I loved The Ship, I always had such a great time being part of the crew. The Captain could be a hard ass whenever we were in deep water but he was a fun guy, liked his rum, and we were all on board with him. For the most part everything was smooth sailing, we had all hands on deck and managed to stay afloat longer than most before running aground. Plus the tips were great. The only stupid thing was having to call our boss “the Captain” and ourselves “the Crew” but otherwise The Ship was the best restaurant I’ve worked at. Despite the campiness we were the top sushi and seafood joint in town, doing the most business by a long shot and had even won several state awards until…
Karen.
Everybody has at least one Karen story. For me, one is enough.
Picture the scene. It’s our busiest night, we’re packed and understaffed and I’m managing 6 tables. I’m bringing our Hostess some more complimentary mints when a little kid walks in.
“Welcome to The Ship, where our food is 20,000 leagues beyond the rest!”
The kid doesn’t answer, he’s just trying to wedge the door open. At first I think something’s wrong with him (probably didn’t get spanked enough) but then I see his mom. She HUGE! I’m not talking tall, she’s only 5’2” or so but she must weigh at least 700lbs!! Her great swinging double-gut reaches nearly to her toes. Her hips are about 8-feet across comprised of several overlapping shelves of blubber, bouncing and wobbling as she waddles in. Her titties are like stuffed garbage bags in size, each sagging toward the side banks of her stomach. She has to turn to squeeze through the door revealing her ass as by far the biggest part of her. It looks like she has two yoga balls for buttocks, perfectly round and squishy, shifting up and down with each lumbering step like some old locomotive. Her legs, previously concealed behind her gut, are in fact thick. They’re like milkshakes, every inch of her squishy from her beefy shoulders to her swollen shins. Her face is actually very pretty, though because of the fat she looks practically melted, like her features are emerging from a pool of pale cream making it hard to tell where her 4 chins end and her frog throat begins. Her inflated cheeks widen her face sweetly like a child, her upturned snout in between. Enigmatic bottle green eyes peak out from behind the encroaching chub, pert lips pursed plumply. She has brunette hair, not in the usual Karen haircut, rather it’s done up like a plant, no doubt a pragmatic means of keeping it out of her face as she eats. This enormous sweating, squelching ball of woman wears relatively little. Her titties are squeezed into a hot pink sports bra, bouncing and swaying, the crossed back straps causing her water wings to seep out in great misshapen lumps of blubber. Her gut is left to hang free and naked. She wears burgundy yoga leggings despite looking less flexible than a lighthouse.
BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP
The stench of her breath is horrendous, barbecue and booze and chilidogs. I’m transfixed on this woman, only now noticing there are two other kids with her. One little girl looks about 6, her little sister around 4. They hand their monstrous mother treats from bakery boxes which she grazes mindless at while struggling to walk, her face and chest covered in sugar and jelly and a snowstorm of pastry flakes.
The Hostess begins, “Welcome to The Ship, where our food is 20,000 leagues--”
“I DON’T CARE ABOUT THAT!” the obese Karen huffs like an angry cow, exhausted from that short walk, “Just get my table ready!” Her kids are instinctively grabbing a chair each and placing it behind their surplus mother. She sits without even checking and lets out a relaxed sigh as the weight comes off her pudgy sandaled feet. Her youngest daughter hands over another box of treats which the Karen snatches off her, ignoring the girl as she crams two apple Danishes into her greedy mouth.
“I’m sorry ma’am but we’re actually fully booked and--"
“WHAT?!” she screams, “Do you have any idea who I am? YOU don’t say no to ME, okay you little bitch?” The Karen is storming now, angrily shoveling fruit tarts and éclairs into her fat face to calm herself. “I want to speak to your manager RIGHT NOW!”
A few more staff have gathered around to see what the commotion is. “Looks like we’ve got a Karen” someone jokes.
“EH? I’m not a Korean, idiot! I’m American!!” She continues eating, her children running back and forth to the parking lot to grab more food from their car. Evidently she’s nearly out of baked good because they’re starting to bring her Taco Bell… from the one next door.
I’m curious to see how our manager deals with this Karen. The Captain never takes this kind of shit from customers. Assholes and people trying to scam free meals after they already ate or refusing to tip, he’ll school and shame them all. This chick certainly isn’t his first Karen and I doubt she’ll be the last. Finally he emerges from his quarters (office) where he’s been taking stock of our plunder (filling out federal tax forms.)
“Avast, how can I help yee--”
He stops dead in his tracks as he sees her, stunned by the size of the woman now mindlessly slopping beef and beans down her cleavage.
“NYOOMMMM SLUUUUURPPP Yeah! Dat liddle WHORE NYOOMMNYOOMMM BRAAAARPPPPP is RE-FOO-ZIN doo serve GUUUUULLLLLLP SMUKKK me! I wand yoo do CHOOMM GLLUUUURPFF fire her RIDE NOW! BUUUUUUUURRPPPP An hurry UB wiv GLOOOMPPP SNARRFFF my table!!”
I know he’ll have a lot to say after close but the Captain is still professional and courteous. He ignores the Karen’s demand to fire my co-worker.
“Miss I’m so sorry to inform you we’re at capacity tonight, we do advise patrons to book well in advance. If you like I can take your booking right now and when you come back we’ll get you some complimentary avocado rolls.”
“SSHHLUUUUUUUUUURPPPPP I’ll take ‘em right now! CHEEEWWW SLOPPPP And I ser-den-ly AM eading here NYOOMMM RAAWRR tonide! BUUUUUUUUUUUURPP”
Already her food stocks are depleted. She shoos her now useless kids away and continues.
“My husband is Oscar Künt and he will NOT be pleased to hear about this.”
Oh shit! Some of the newer staff members laugh but the Captain throws them daggers. Oscar Künt is the city's Chief Health Inspector and has a reputation for killing restaurants. Apparently he nearly shut the Ship down in its first year and everyone has heard of his wife. One of the dish washers told me she’d gone to 16 businesses over the past year where she got less than satisfactory service. Those places had all lost their licenses by the next morning.
“Of course we can serve you, Mrs. Künt, if you and your children would like to follow us--”
“No, my kids won’t be dining, just me” the Karen explains, her mouth already watering in anticipation as her stomach growls thunderous, it’s been nearly a minute since she’s eaten anything. “And I want SPECIAL attention after how I’ve been treated tonight… and WHERE ARE MY AVOCADO ROLLS??”
The Captain redirects two waiters carrying appetizers towards the Karen. She shoves a fistful of crab cakes into her mouth, crumbs tumbling all over her.
“Ms, we have our best booth for you near the aquarium.”
“CHOMM NYAARRSH Nuh-uh! SLUUK I ain’d go-in ub there!” she complains. The table is on an ever-so-slightly raised part of the restaurant and she would have to climb 3 steps and get even more exhausted. “Gimme diss NYOOMNYOOMM one!”
The Captain was hoping she’d take our best table, it’s quite private and would have less effect on the other diners. Instead, she wants the nearest booth which is unfortunately occupied. Ignoring the sickened family she plops down, her phenomenal ass nearly crushing their baby which is pulled aside just in time. Her gut nearly knocks the table over as she grabs their mushroom tempura and wolfs it down. The family is too shocked as she scarfs every scrap of food they have, even half eaten bits and flavour-laden napkins. The family is quickly shepherded away to the nice table, their food replaced and their bill waived. The Karen has destroyed all the food and has nothing in reach.
“I have been waiting BUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRPPPPP at LEAST an hour for someone to take my LOOOOOOOOOOOOORRPPPPP fucking ORDER! HELLO??!? BRAAAARRRPPPPPPP”
The Captain informs me that as the most senior waiter I’ll have to mind her table, just her table. I’m to fulfill her every selfish whim, meet all her exhaustive demands, take her abuse and almost definitely not get tipped…
WOO-HOO!! I’m SO glad, from the second I saw this Karen I wanted to serve her. I am very much into larger ladies, I love how dominating and selfish and ignorant she’s being too. It turns me on to see her disregard the other diners and her kids, clutching her belly and thinking only about her next mouthful. As soon as I saw her entering the restaurant I’d instinctively ordered my section’s staff to bring out a couple dozen platters of deep fried shrimp, deep fried scallop, soft shell crab, spicy shrimp, grilled mackerel, salmon sashimi, salmon asparagus, sesame balls, deep fried banana, beef short ribs, cold tofu and several bowls of edamame. She drools like a starved dog down her chins and over her sports bra as the food is placed in front of her. I’ve NEVER seen anyone eat so fast, it’s carnage. Snacks are grabbed indiscriminately with unexpected speed and mashed together into her mouth without mattering what it is. It doesn’t even look like eating, it looks more like genocide. She snuffles it all up like a blender, a million fishy flavours combining in her throat and carried back to me on the winds of her sea breeze burps.
BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP
While she’s working on this buffet I order them to bring her some party trays, 70 stacks of dynamite rolls, 70 of volcano rolls, 140 of red dragon rolls (because she sent my servers back for double the amount), 50 buckets of yams, 20 each servings of spicy tuna and spicy salmon, as well as every last California roll in this restaurant. Throughout this she looks me up and down with interest and I wonder if she’s thinking of complaining about my performance.
“SLUUUUUUURRPPPP CRUNCH NYAAWWWW Okay BOZO, dime doo GNAARLLL SHIIIIIIIIRKKKKK move on from RAAAARPPPPP MMMMMMMM snacks an bing sum PLOOOORRPPP REAL food!”
The kitchen staff has already prepared her a veritable buffet of undersea delights. No fewer than 50 soft shell crabs, 20 grilled mahi, 30 plates of seafood fideuà, about 6 buckets worth of tilapia with mango sauce, 100 buttered lobsters, 40 barbecued scampi and in the centre, a 8-foot long 900lb fat baked swordfish prepared for her. All of this food reaches her table just as she’s demanding an end to her snacks, there’s barely a break between her last takoyaki and first of 600 fish tacos.
“NYOOOMM SLUUUURPPPP Wow, sum ag-du-ally good GLAAAAARRR CHEEWWW service SKUUUUUUUUUGE for once!”
The Captain hears that, a huge smile crossing his face as from behind the Karen he gives me two huge thumbs up. I knew to have all this food ready the moment she walked in, I had already been preparing for this moment… in fact, I was preparing since before this Karen arrived today. See, I’m a big fan of big girls like this, they’re all over the internet if you go look for them, giant awful women and girls who’ve grown to sizes we previously thought impossible. There are all these stories around them as well, like they’re all part alien, or goddesses in human form. One legend says there’s a secret society running the world and they worship these fat women but that’s obviously bullshit. Either way, I’ve done my research. I know exactly how these women eat, how they need to be treated, what to expect. I’m prepared. She farts.
PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRPPPPPPP
“Hey” I pull my most trusted server aside, “go and detach the supply closet door.”
He looks confused, “You mean the--”
“Just take it off the hinges so it’s wide open. I’m too busy to argue, just start doing it.”
He shrugs and leaves to find a screwdriver. Trust me, I’m prepared. I turn back to my obese habitué. She’s grabbing oysters in each hand and sucking out the slimy innards before carelessly dropping the ransacked shells to the floor, her face dripping with a thick slime of drool and mollusc. She burps in a way that more resembles a roaring dinosaur, spraying eviscerated sea life all over herself, me, and a couple of other diners.
“EXCUSE me!” a nearby diner yells, “if you’re going to eat so disgustingly would you at least mind wearing a mask?” The Karen is predictably outraged.
“I hab a SLUUUUUURPPP SLUUKKK bree-ving con-di-tion NYAAAAAAARKK” With that she releases another lung-busting fart so loud it shakes her booth and fills the restaurant, thank god everyone else is wearing a mask because suddenly they all have breathing conditions, coughing and spluttering and a few of the older ones have to leave.
“Well why don’t your kids wear masks!? Hmm?” some other eater pipes up.
“CHOOOMF NAAAAARSH I dond wond dem UUUUMMFFF loogin like BLOOOOOOOOOORK SLUSHHH liddle Muslims!!”
The crowd is up in arms at this comment.
“’Ow DARE yoo dell me SHLOOOOOOPPP SLUUUUURPPP oww doo raise BUUUUURRK LAAAAAAAARPPPP my gidds! Do you know CLOOOOORPPPP ow many CREDIT CARDS I hab??”
She continues eating, ignoring her kids' sporadic, meek requests for food until 30 minutes later it just gets too irritating. She’s ripped out of her epicurean stupor.
“Guh you kids SUCK, why can I never get some time for ME! BUUUUURRRRRPPPPPPP”
I interject, deciding to test a theory, “Miss we’d be happy to offer your children some free food while our staff covers their duties feeding you, but the only food we have left back there has been put aside for your dinner. Would you like us to give your starving kids the tiniest amount--”
Her eyes go wide with desperate alert, “NO, do NOT waste MY food on those brats.”
“Well the only other food we have is a couple barrels of old fish stinking up the alley out back, maybe they can--”
“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH” the Karen squeals, slobbering pathetically as she lifts one of her own tits to wipe the drool and food, “I’ll take those fishies, MMMMMMMMMM… as for you GREEDY kids” she screams at her babies, “you can go BEG everyone else for food if you’re so hungry!”
Still feeding the Karen I watch as her skinny little children go from table to table begging for food. Almost immediately a diner takes pity on the malnourished 4-year-old girl and gives her a handful of salmon mousse cups. For the first time the Karen pays attention to her children.
“EYY if yoo NYOOOM SLUUURP getting handouts yoo mays’well gib it LAARK doo me!!”
Obediently the child hands me the little creamy treats, the Karen opens her gullet so I may slide them in. The inside of her mouth looks like a circle of hell dedicated to gluttony and smells like the bottom of the ocean. A grey mound of slopped and slurped chewed food oozes over her lips as the sheer mass of food backs up, her chewing too fast for her swallowing. She screams at her offspring to go “mooch off the rest of these suckers” and together they manage to collect 30 plates of donations, all of which the Karen knocks back without even acknowledging her deprived progeny. Some patrons simply refuse to hand over food but she screeches and wails at them for not taking responsibility for her kids. She yells and shames them for ignoring starving children until eventually most diners just give up and hand over their meals. Finally the bus boys wheel through those old barrels of fish we haven’t had time to ditch. They get the first lid off and the stench is almost as bad as one of her farts. Lifeless fish corpses bob in the slimy brine and she starts to drool excitedly. One of her babies kneels next to her, grabbing a handful of dead mackerel, the viscous goop oozing like snot all over them. I take one of the fish and hold it above her head as if I’m feeding grapes to a goddess, she giggles with decadent anticipation as she tilts her neck back and plops open her jaw. Thick fish goo paints her face and she laps greedily at it. The second the head is past her lips she sucks in, tearing the creature in half.
“MORE!!” she screams, her demented demand blasting a fish eye right at my face. I hold a bunch and she chomps right through all of them like some grazing whale. She knocks back 7 barrels of expired fish in 20 minutes, bones and all. During this she demands I grab another chair to rest her gut on. I facilitate this for her, desperate for my chance to wrestle with that big belly. There’s a huge sigh of relief from her. I start to massage her stomach without asking and she moans in bliss, clearly so used to being attended 24/7. After 10 minutes of this she snaps her fat fingers (barely, they don’t actually make a sound) and orders me to massage her obese legs. I obey. I remember another 12 garbage bags of outdated king prawns hidden in the freezer since before quarantine (you can see why we’re so desperate to avoid the health inspector) and order my crew to bring them out. Her kids assist, heaving the bags in weakly. I notice they’re not only shaking but quite pale too, sickly.
“Pardon me, ma’am--” she moans as my sensuous hands massage further and further up her fat, flattened thighs.
“CALL ME MISTRESS!” she demands excitedly, a licentious smile gracing her messy face as her son slips 6 crunchy jumbo shrimps into her mouth. The bag is rapidly defrosting and the dead smell getting worse.
“Sorry, Mistress” I comply, secretly excited, “it’s just your kid looks sick.” I realise they all do, the Karen just shrugs, selfishly focused entirely on her food.
“I doubt it” she answers, “dey nebber been vaccinated.” My cock twitches as I realise just how deep this Karen’s ignorance and indifference towards motherhood goes. “I don’t want them turning acoustic--“
“Do you mean autistic?”
“Whaddever! I don’d wand dem BLOOMP GUUULP turning into retards SNARRFor faggots GLUUUKKK so NO vaccines! GUUULP Besides, I have more im-bor-dan fings doo spend my money on!” She admires the several thick diamond rings glistening on her hands, smeared in ruined food. As we continue to feed her and my massage of her bloated corpulence gets more and more intimate, the Karen explains how one of her kids (she throws him a spiteful glance) “isn’t technically mine” since she had him with one of her ex-husbands. Technically the kid “belongs” to him and she doesn’t have to take care of “it” and only demanded custody of her son because he’s “a half-decent feeder”.
“SHLLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURPPPPP I can nebber get too many of those” she suggests, licking her lips and giving me a smoky seductive look. She says how kind and fair she was to her ex-husband by leaving him their other child, a 5-year-old I later learned has Acute Flaccid Myelitis (AFM), a disease which leaves children paralysed and struggling to breathe. Apparently she “just couldn’t with the needy little bitch” and left the loving child with its father. On and on she drones about herself, about how difficult it is to be a mother and find time to go to the beach or get her nails done. I give her sympathy, now massaging her wobbling shoulders. Our head chef, a Japanese seafood genius named Jiro, approaches me with the last bag of jumbo shrimp.
“We are nearly out of food” he warns me in perfect English with only the slightest accent.
“HEY, you’re in America, cut it with the chink speak!” she berates him as she knocks back a 4th tub of horseradish, “You have to speak AMERICAN! Talk like a normal person!”
A waiter brings her key lime pies.
“NUMMY NUMMY!! ME WANT! ME WANT NUM-NUMS! SLLUUUUUUUUURPPP” she buries herself in the first one, coating herself in a whipped cream face pack.
My server from earlier approaches.
“Ey boss, I got the door off the supply closet.” I pat him on the back, great work! Just in time too as…
“I NEED A SHIT!!!!”
Yep, like I say I’ve been studying these enormous women for a while now and all evidence suggests they shit at least once an hour. Thing is, our bathrooms are definitely too narrow to fit this Karen. However, the staff don't use the customer bathrooms, the last thing you want is to see the guy handling your food taking a leak. Ours is disguised as the supply closet because it’s right in the middle of the main part of the restaurant. It has an extra wide doorway which she should just about be able to fit into now we’ve removed it from its hinges. Quickly, 4 staff members and her kids help the Karen over, time between her farts getting shorter like contractions, the smell worsening. Nobody else is eating now, they’re all watching in morbid curiosity, presumably thinking there’s no way this obese woman is about to take a dump in front of everyone. We manage to shuffle her in (she’s still knocking back food during all this) and I start to work her yoga pants down. The second they’re clear of her asshole she unleashes a stinking sneeze-blast of diarrhea all over the seat.
“Oopsie! Ah well, that’s what you’re paid for!” she continues to glut while shitting as I continue massaging her gut, I send someone else to grab a mop and all our Lysol. She takes this time to look me up and down. The whole restaurant is horrified by the smell and sight of this human pig woman shamelessly shitting in public. Half of them leave.
“Take your mask off” she demands. I obey, she surveys my face and I give her my handsomest smile.
“Mmmmmm… you look like Chris Hemsworth” she licks her lips, then SCREAMS at me to put my mask back on, loud enough to shame me in front of all the customers. Her expression however tells me this anger is insincere, almost like her equivalent of playful teasing. 30 minutes later she finished her dump and makes her little boy wipe her ass clean while I shovel chawanmushi down her face. Now much lighter (MUCH lighter) she only needs two people to help her back to her table. Along the way she spots a young couple who’ve just arrived (clearly not aware of the deprivation we now apparently serve) being seated, specifically, she notices their baby in its car seat at their feet.
“Ooooooooooooooh” she squeals, “I looooove babies!” She leans against the couple’s table to steady herself, unknowingly or uncaringly pinning them against the back of their booth. She looks down at the baby, licking her lips and drooling all over it. The 3-month-old is practically baptised in her thick spicy slobber, coughing and choking under the salvation salivation. “Ooooooh you just look good enough to eat” she moans with a zombified stare.
“Ms, we have some platters of fried calamari at your table.”
It only takes her 30 seconds to devour all 8 platters, but that’s enough time to receive some bad news.
“That is it” Jiro informs me, “the calamari is the last food we have…”
“WHAT!??!” the Karen screams, “If you don’d ged me BLOOOORK SNURK some-fing else doo ead CHEEEW BRAAARP my ex-husband will sue you NYOMMNYOMMM for ERY-FING! CHHMMPF SNAARFF He’s a lawyer and UUUURFFF he’s sdill in lub wiv me SCHMAAK and he’ll shut this place down!!”
“But please, Madam, you have eaten everything.”
“BUUUUUUUUUUURPPPPPP not everything!!”
She eyes our aquarium, swarming with colourful ocean life. It’s one of the main draws of The Ship, hosting clownfish, wrasses, basslets, blue tangs, seahorses, puffers, some eels and even a couple octopuses. She drools hungrily, her stomach moaning like a whale song. I figure, either we feed them to her and replace them later or she shuts us down and we end up liquidating these guys anyway. I order all of my servers to grab fishing nets (hung on the walls as props) and they start scooping it all out. The few people still in the restaurant cry out as we bring her these live fish. She takes a whole flounder and bites into its side, its guts spilling all over her chins and chest. It starts leaking orange eggs which she slurps out greedily before popping the rest of the twitching creature into her mouth. She devours all of them, swallowing the eels whole, she even seems to have no trouble with the puffer fish. It’s carnage, like a scene from Padak. One poor octopus futilely blasts ink everywhere in an attempt to defend itself, clutching her chubby arm as she bites into its squishy head. The last I see is one limp tentacle reaching hopelessly out the corner of her mouth and she forcefully swallows it back. Her stomach is moving, little lumps rising here and there as its new residents boil alive in her no doubt potent stomach acids. She moans, only it’s a different moan to food bliss, she starts to touch herself, demanding I feed her.
“Mmmmm I looooove eating stuff that’s still alive…”
She closes her eyes and opens her mouth. 2 minutes later I’m shoving the last of our aquarium into her as she keeps rubbing her clit, her orgasm giving off such intense heat like a fever. She gently mutters “I think I’ll come back next week…” before nodding off, snoring heavily. Exhausted, me and the rest of the Crew including the Captain congratulate ourselves, shaking hands and hugging. We’ve done it, we’ve survived her, she’s not having us shut down.
“EXCUSE ME!”
Me and the Captain both jump, behind us is a crowd of middle aged female customers, all of them angry.
Karens.
“We’ve had to sit through this all night--”
“-- food has been late the entire evening--”
“-- I’m paying to be here--”
“-- do you know who I am--”
“-- want your corporate number--”
“-- post this on Facebook!”
---
So that’s the story of how The Ship got shut down. Reputation destroyed. Everyone was let go, I think the Captain is working at McDonalds now and drinks a bottle of Malibu every night. As for me, I landed on my feet. I did such a good job that night a month ago I’m now Mrs. Künt’s personal assistant. I enter her bedroom to the sight of her splayed across the mattress, watching television and shoving profiteroles into her fat face. One of the many guys she’s cheating on her latest husband with is getting kicked out as she admires the golden bracelet tribute he bought her. She’s so sexy, spending most of her time naked and eating. My boner is already springing to attention as I deliver a platter of cheeseburgers to her. On a dirty old mattress in the corner of her room is her 5-year-old son with AFM, she demanded custody when she realised she could exploit him. His name used to be Kyle (she put no effort into naming him) but changed it to Bentley because she thought it was a cuter name to start a charity around. The Disneyworld Trip for Bentley Foundation brings her a couple hundred dollars every month and all of it goes towards her stomach or buying herself presents. Bentley is so weak and pale he looks like ET, electrodes over his little dying body. Feebly he calls out for his beloved Queen.
“Mommy…”
She BURPS, spraying chewed up food all over the child. “SHUDDUP! Mommy’s busy!” She certainly is, as I place the mounds of cheese burgers next to her on the bed. She rips into them, she needs to get her strength up as we’re going to Costco this afternoon and she says if they don’t give her enough free samples she’s going to make a bigger scene than she’s already planning to. My Mistress loves to make people feel like shit, it makes her feel so sexy. As I work my cock from my pants she starts to open her legs, deliberately keeping her giant gut in place to hide her pussy.
“Say it!” she demands seductively. I smile.
“I want to see my manager.”
She giggles and starts to move her belly aside.
I guess not all Karens are bad. Some of them are pure evil.