POEM:

Why can’t I spit in your food?
Your loud, obnoxious, needy, and rude.
I’d tell you to kiss my ass, eat shit, or go screw yourself, but that would be lewd.
If I kick you out I won’t get your money, so I think I should simply slobber in your honey.
Since you don’t leave tips, I’ll hack on your parsnips.
That salad that you didn’t eat, but just had to have, got you nose goo spat on your entree of veal. Quit eating calves.
All I can say is have a nice day, but I’ll smile as you walk away.
I’m still not sure why I can’t spit, because although I can’t, I just did.
You didn’t complain as you slopped up your plate. You’ll never know what you just ate.

Fortunately for our patrons, the food is cooked right in front of everyone so I can’t really practice this kind of behavior. Darn!