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Here is one story retold, albeit with a pithier ending:
A Googol of Hatred
What happened: I was out at a club with my friends and I run into this guy I met once at a party a long time before then. He gives me a really bad look and I go up to him being really friendly, saying "Hey, how are you?" He looks me up and down and says "Fine." I ask what's wrong and he says "Oh nothing, just think you're trashy." "I get a trash vibe from you." Keep in mind I'm not 'trashy'. At all.
What I said: "Why? But you don't even know me.."
What I SHOULD have said: It's better than being a fat ass you pot-bellied, Jenny Craig-needing, Beyonce-loving, mangina-eating slut.
The French call it l'esprit d'escalier, "the wit of the staircase," those biting ripostes that are thought of just seconds too late, on the way out of the room-or even, to tell the truth, days later. It's happened to you: you've suddenly thought of just what would put your foe in his or her place, but past the time when the arrow could sting its victim. You've stewed in your own juice ever since, and the chance for singeing repartee is gone forever.
Or is it?
Dorothy Parker or Oscar Wilde may have had the rapier wit to tweak their tormentors on the spot, but for the rest of us, we offer the Internet's only L'esprit d'escalier web site!