Out of Line

I don’t know whom (that’s right, bitches, whom!) I hate more: (1) the woman who tried to cut in line at Duane Reade yesterday evening when there is no way in fuuuuucking hell she did not see that the line was at least ten deep; or (2) the placid schmucks already in line who didn’t open their mouths to tell her not to do it.
Help me out. Tell me whom I should hate more. Discuss it in comments. This is your chance to shine shine SHINE, so take it. Run with it. There is one rule, though: You must indicate hatred. You cannot sully my comments by saying, “I do not think any of these people deserve to be hated.” I will be forced to hate you if you even try.
Oh, and in case you’re wondering (and yes, I know you are), I — from my place about eight back in that line (she was trying to cut in at around the fourth place) — had to be the one to tell this nitwit, “Uhhh, the line is back here“, twice, before she removed her head from her ass and shambled her way back to the end of the line. Why oh why is it that the burden always falls on me to put people in their place? True, it is a skill of which I am very proud, but sometimes I wish someone else would just cut in and do it for me.
P.S. I am supplying a nice song for you to enjoy while deliberating your decision. It is a bit more upbeat than “We Hate Everyone”, by Type O Negative, with which I delighted you on Friday.