6 Ways to Make Your Server Put His Balls in Your Soup

Hi, I’m Dr. Louball and I’ll be your server this evening. Before we get started you should be aware of a few rules of restaurant etiquette that most casual diners are not aware of. These aren’t so much “rules” per se, but more like cause and effect situations you never noticed before.

1. If you complain that the soup is too cold, I’m going to take it back to the kitchen and dip my balls in it to see if that’s true. Most times it’s not, but we don’t serve the soup that hot to begin with, so the most I have to fear by doing this is toasty, warm balls, which feels kinda nice and I recommend you try it sometime. If you’re right and it is too cold I’ll give it thirty seconds in the microwave and bring it back to you. Don’t think you’re going to get off easy if you tell a female server that the soup is cold. Female servers are typically much more clever and vicious than their be-balled counterparts. They’ll work something out. The lesson; Just eat your fucking soup.
   
2. If you come to my restaurant when it’s crowded and you happen to be in my way and you happen to be standing less than a foot and half away and if I still have to say “excuse me” three or more times before your fat ass gets out of my way, please understand that you have fucked up in a way that you can’t fuck back down. In this instance The Ancient Law of the Restaurant states that when we next meet I get to throw a claw hammer at your genital region from fifteen paces. And I’ve been practicing with my claw hammer.
   
3. If you are with a large group or any group on a busy day and you ask for separate checks you have no soul. Split checks are the devil, just ask Bobby Boucher’s mom. They are the devil and people who ask for them are the devil’s earthbound subhuman whores doomed to wander the earth, constantly annoying real people with their blatant refusal to learn basic arithmetic.
   
4. If you complain that something is taking to long, even if it is taking to long, I get to fuck your mom in the mouth. If your mom’s dead, that only means you have to watch. Don’t ever think that your time is more valuable than my time, fucko. I’m working right now. You are sitting in a restaurant. If your time was so damn valuable, you’d have packed a lunch so you could work while you were eating. So quit your bitching, put your food in your face when I bring it to you and get the fuck out of my life happy in the knowledge that you got to spend one hour of your life not having to get out of chair to get things.
   
5. If you have any comment to make about me, my appearance or the way I do my job that is anything other than one hundred percent complimentary…well, best just to keep it to yourself. No. I won’t do anything to you for opening your gaping maw to whine about a subject so trivial as whether the server serves with his right or his left. That’s only because I won’t have to. If you’re one of those people, then your life is already more sad and empty then mine ever will be. And I’m a fucking server.
   
6. If you don’t tip or tip badly don’t come back. A lot of people feel that they are justified in leaving a shitty tip if the service they received was not up to their exacting expectations. This is not the case. A tip isn’t something you do to be polite and it’s not your personal license to judge me. It’s my pay for the work that I do. How would you feel if your boss came to you and said, “Well, Dave, I gotta say you were a little slow with those TPS reports this week so we’ll only be giving you half a paycheck…mmm-kay?” That’s right, you would spend a month trying to clean your boss’s hair and skin tissue out from under your fingernails. The mere fact that you as a customer are allowed to judge my worth, and therefore my pay and I don’t get to do the same to you when I’m buying a blowjob behind Seven-Eleven, is a sign that we live in a world so oblivious to the concept of fairness and logic it makes Ted Kaczynski look like Atticus Finch. Please remember, if you stiff a server on a tip and then return to that restaurant you will be remembered and you will be fucked with. Service industry folk hold grudges like the mafia and pursue vendetta with the sneaky sideways persistence of a dick punched T-1000. To illustrate the point a secret poll of service industry personnel revealed that, in 2009, the average habitual non-tipping customer unknowingly consumed at least a third of their body weight in fluids and substances so horrible that when the survey results were published Jeffery Dhamer shit his pants from the grave and gently wept until three prison inmates beat him back to death.

There. I hope that was helpful. This has been Dr. Louball saying, mind your fucking manners.