Fuck You

I hate people who have a positive outlook on life.

Weird Fucker: Scenes from Public Transit

He had the body and balding hair line of a fifty year old, wore his suit and tie like a forty year old insurance salesman and had the baby face of a fifteen year old boy. He looked like he had stepped right out of an episode of Seinfeld. I half expected the theme music to start up over the sound of the bus engine. Was he real? He seemed like a caricature that shouldn't exist in the real world.


He was earnestly chatting up the pretty young Asian women next to him who was too polite to tell him to fuck off. She nodded and through down cast eyes laughed at his jokes and stories of traveling to New York. He looked at her like he wanted to awkwardly fuck her and then sell her some Encyclopedias. He handed over his card sure to scrawl his phone number across the back. She politely took it but obviously had no intention of calling... Ever.


I cocked my eyebrow unable to tear my eyes away from this odd scene. I silently thanked my lucky stars that I'm a fat chick dressed in black wearing a death metal t-shirt and a 'don't-fucking-touch-me' look. He would have no interest in hitting on anyone who didn't look like subservient girl next door. I don't get the same amount of unwanted attention pretty young girls like this did. I mean, I get hit on and get mistaken for a hooker and get propositioned... Actually being unusual and mean looking means only the men who see it as a challenge or the most mentally unstable like to attempt to break through my personal space bubble. Fuck.


Starring at this awkward specimen of the male of the species, I wondered once again who is breeding these boring ass weirdo middle management motherfuckers? I think they hatch from eggs in the back offices of insurance companies. I wonder for the millionth time, why am I not a lesbian or a nun if this is what is out there?


Wait. I think to myself, that's not fair. I've had some lovely men in my life who fucked it right up. What would I have to write about if beautiful men didn't play with my heart and my cunt? We disembark from the bus and he walks the pretty young Asian woman all the way to the train platform chatting her ear off as she nods along dutifully. I contemplate following them to see how far he takes this, suddenly feeling like maybe I need to protect this poor woman, but I want a slushie and detour into the convenience store. Maybe I'd get a pack of cigarettes too.

Genetic

Sometimes I feel the violence and hate welling up inside me like an evil tide and all I can think is 'hi dad.'

I Feel Nothing

Sometimes I think you could hold a blowtorch to my hand and I won't even feel it.