Pedestrian Pedestrians
Women who beat their men shouldn’t have to wear wifebeaters. They should have their own style of tank top called a hubbyclubby.
There’s a restaurant in town that has the following posted as its hours of operation: 9AM DAILY, 9AM SAT AND SUN. This is so amazingly redundant I have to repeat it. There’s a restaurant in town that has the following posted as its hours of operation: 9AM DAILY, 9AM SAT AND SUN.
The other night, some unleashed little dog ran past me as I was walking down the sidewalk. It circled back around and jumped on the back of my lower leg, trying to impregnate it. Something about my leg must have looked very sexy to that particular dog. My calf must look like a sassy poodle or something. I had to shake it off my leg. Of course, the nearby owner claimed that the dog was only being friendly and that she was sorry for her dog’s behavior. Lady, keep your dog on a leash. Me, invest in some catcher’s shin guards for protection from horny dogs.
Crazy people on the bus are a mystery to me. They can be plum nutty, crazier-than-a-loon, out-of-their-minds insane while they’re onboard, but they seem to always sober up just in time to ring the bell in time for their particular stop. I’ve never seen a crazy person say, “Oh damn, y’all! I missed my stop. My bad, bus driver.” You would think that with all of that yelling, shadow boxing, moving around, and peeing on the bus, they’d be distracted from noticing that their stop’s coming up. That internal clock must be something else.
Not sure why the “real” in “real estate” is there for. What does it even mean? I mean, really. I imagine that whenever a “real” estate agent shows me a property for sale and it turns out to be a Barbie dreamhouse, then I reckon the term “fake estate” will be more applicable.
Watching all of these guys in the 1980s walk around with these big, majestic boomboxes made me want one, too. Badly. I also watched TV constantly and read a lot, so I knew a ton of words. However, I would use these words out of context every now and then. So when Ma asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I told her the stereotype that I wanted was one of those LaSonic boomboxes.
I almost died last week. I almost got hit while crossing the street by someone who was texting while driving. Dumbass was making a left turn while her head was down, and didn’t see me walking. New law: Any driver who comes dangerously close to hitting a pedestrian should have to stop their car, get out of it, lie down on the pavement, and allow the pedestrian to kick the living fecal matter out of ’em. It’s only fair. If you, protected and surrounded in your vehicle, are willing to crash your machine of metal into my unprotected human frame of flesh and bones, then you should be willing to have me crash the metal from my steel toe boots into your unprotected body, at the very least. Either that or pedestrians get to shoot drivers in the face. Hell, you don’t need that face anyway. You weren’t using it to look at the road in the first place.
Why does Rite Aid and other stores like to give you long-ass receipts? I have no idea what’s going on. I bought one item. Why is this receipt so long? I can tie this end to the register, thread the rest through every aisle in the store, and still have enough paper left over to fly to India and TP the Taj Mahal. There’s more paper in this receipt that there is paper in the notebook I just purchased.
This guy sitting next to me at this restaurant ordered a coffee. The waitress comes out with his coffee in a paper cup. She explains that there’s a shortage of coffee mugs at the restaurant, and that a paper cup is the best she could do for the time being. The guy gives her and the paper cup a snooty look and starts complaining. He acted as if she brought his coffee to him in a gorilla’s armpit. Minutes later, the waitress comes back out and pours the man’s coffee into this perfectly fine ceramic latte mug. Again, the guy mumbles to his friend at the table with him, and complains about how he prefers a “real” coffee mug. Meanwhile, he’s looking at my coffee mug as if I personally set out to take his beloved mug when I was here first. Ay, yo, asshole! Stop being an asshole. Nothing’s wrong with your coffee. It’ll taste the same whether you drink it out of a coffee mug or a latte cup. Give the lady a break. She’s doing the best she can, and your piece-of-sheeeeit attitude isn’t making her day any brighter. If it were me, I would’ve poured it into your cupped hands. Make your own cup. What’s that you say? It’s really hot. Awww, I’m sorry. Go fuck yourself.
Happy Mama’s Day!
Think Ink|Thinq Inq 