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Every time I go into a PCC around dinnertime, I see you: hemp pants, patchouli, knit cap, veggie/vegan, unshaved, with some foul smell emitting from your ugly mugs. I am so sick of watching you linger at the deli for more than 10 minutes as you sample almost every goddamn thing they have in the place. You try to play it off as a joke as you tap the glass and ask, "What's that?" or "Ohhhh, doesn't that look scrumptious?" You banter your stupid asses off while shoveling more and more samples into your gaping holes, totally ignoring the fact that, yes, everyone IS on to you as they look at you all with utter disgust. The poor PCC employees have to be nice and plaster on smiles as you ask for more and more sample cups, but trust me—they hate you even more than I do. There is no difference between you and those 300-pound pieces of shit at Costco shoveling their way through the lard-filled mecca of sample gluttony. Next time, I won't be so kind when I politely order over you, your veggie rage building as I get a chicken leg. Next time, I'll smack you across the face with that dead chicken carcass, you freeloading fucks.