Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch! Just a few days ago, it was downright hot. Today, I am huddled up at my desk with two jackets, trying to pull one over my head to keep warm. That's right, Sun (or whatever your friends call you), I am now an eskimo because of you. You know what? Fuck you, bus. You are fired, mother shitter. So take your sunburn and your glowy white dots in the corner of my vision, and get out of here.
I mean seriously! First you make it crazy hot - fucking Tarzan hot! - and now it's so cold that my ears can only hear what sounds like howling. HOWLING!! This is bullshit! This is how people get sick! If you get me sick... I do not forgive easily, you bastard swine-flu spreading bucket of cocks!. Do you hear?! Some day I will fucking get you, Sun!
Fuck! I'm shivering, and this time it's not from anger. Christsicles, if it gets any colder, I don't know if I'll be able to get up to go home. They'll lock up, leaving me in here to fend for myself. I can picture it vividly. I shiver under my desk/shelter. It's cold. It's dark. I think I hear wolves.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Adventure bus
As I sit here, I try to remind myself that I do in fact like food. I like trying new restaurants and finding hidden gems. It makes me happy. The problem with that is I then have this list favorite places. And I want to go to those favorite places. I mean, why try some new Mexican joint when I know Tia Margarita is good, right? Well, smarty pants, that kind of thinking will leave me high and dry if I'm on the other side of town. I wouldn't know about places like Los Panchos. To be frank, I'd be screwed. No, my name isn't frank. It's an expression, asshole. I digress. So what I try to do is keep to my regular haunts, then every once in a while, I just decide "Fuck it, tonight is someplace new!" I am bold.
I notice looking around how small this room is, and that reminds me, some of my favorite places were discovered by walking into some tiny, hole in the wall establishment. Actually, these are not establishments. A better term is "joint". These joints look like nothing from the outside. In fact, some of them look scary. No matter. If I get a recommendation or see that the place does brisk business - hell, sometimes all it takes is the smell of something delicious coming from inside - I'll give it a try. This brings me to the events leading up to my current predicament.
So there I am, having already decided to try the new Korean barbecue joint that opened down the street. I walk in. It's a small place, but packed with people and the place smells good. I sat down, and took a look at the menu. Whoa. Whoa! Half the menu is Korean food, some of which is barbecue, but then the rest is, I want to say American kids' menu. Mac n' cheese. Beans n' franks. (Hot dogs, motherfucker! Get off the "frank" thing!) Anyway, so now I'm a little concerned. I decide to stick with the Korean stuff. BBQ shrimp sounds good. The place is a Korean BBQ place, I'm doing Korean BBQ. Done. Order placed. Just sit back, look around at what other people are having. I see a guy who isn't even eating Korean food. Hm, there's another. Huh, nobody is eating Korean food. Uh oh. Oh shit. I realize I've made a mistake. A grave mistake. This isn't a Korean BBQ place with some sketchy American food thrown on the menu. It's an American food place with some sketchy Korean BBQ thrown on the menu. It's all Koreans in there, eating chicken strips and tater tots. I need to get out of there. I need to somehow get up and leave before anyone sees me. But before I could do that, my food arrived. And that's when I met you. You who put me here. If only I'd stuck to my insticts, shrimp. But no, you tricked me. Fuck you, bus.
At the time, you looked... good. Sitting on my plate, with your little tails still on, even though you KNOW that bothers me, shrimp. If I wanted to take the fucking tails off myself, I'd have cooked at home! Sons of bitches!! Again, I digress. So there you were, a little spicy, but cooked well, with no weird flavors. Thank god. Crisis averted. Phew! I finished dinner, paid, then left feeling pretty good about the whole thing. I don't know if I'd go back, but it wasn't bad.
So then after running (walking, actually) a few errands, I headed home, which was about 20 blocks away. After a couple blocks, I noticed I was sweating. It's a good long walk, but didn't think I should have been sweating. And even though I was sweating, I felt uncomfortably warm. Right about then, you turned on me, shrimp. You fucking turned on me.
I actually don't remember some parts of it, the trip from that dirty sidewalk to this cold floor. I remember a lot of people out on the sidewalk, all of them in my way, and they were painted green. Well no, there were people wearing green. There was one girl who was painted green. I remember her for two reasons: One, she was topless, and her whole torso was painted emerald green. Two, she was throwing up into the gutter, just like I was. I think I remember her trying to talk between bouts of sickness, but either she made no sense, or I couldn't decipher English. Probably both. Let me just take a moment to say that if you need a shitload of people to get out of your way quickly, I recommend throwing the fuck up. Trust me, people will move. I think it being St. Patrick's Day helped, so try that. Most people will be drunk, and won't get fighty about it. And if you get any of them to join you, well then Bob's your uncle. (Not Frank, shithead!)
Anyway, I made it home. Panic-stricken, I headed to the bathroom, and again I threw the fuck up. Just finished, in fact. And now I sit here where you left me, shrimp, on the floor of the bathroom. I sit here panting, and I can feel another wave creeping up on me. But wait... my stomach feels like it's going to die, but there's also pain... lower. No, not pain. Gurgling. It's... it's speaking. Oh god! What is happening?! Which end is going to betray me?! I don't know whether I'm going to puke again or give birth to Cthulhu! What the fuck are you doing in there, shrimp?! Did half of you stop in my stomach while the other half kept going? I... I don't know whether to sit on the toilet or in front of it. AAAAAAAAAA! This is disgusting in so many ways!! I would gladly make a deal with the devil herself to get out of this. Cure me or kill me, I don't care. Call me Frank. Just make it stop. Oh hey, the tub is kinda close. And with that, I think I have a plan.
[later]
I am less a human being now, but at least that is done. There is simply nothing left inside me. No shrimp, no liquid, hell I think I saw a fucking organ come out. I still feel terrible, but maybe I can s- no. NO. Shrimp, make up your mind! In or out!! You can't jus- ohgod ohgod ohgod! Out! Out! OUT!!
[much later]
I don't have much time. I hear the call of Cthulhu once more, and I cannot resist. I think I have time to get some water, and I just wanted to say, if anyone ever tells me, "Hey, let's try something new", ever, I am going to punch that person in the fucking face. Or in their drunk, green tits. My name is Frank, and I will never try a new restaurant again.
I notice looking around how small this room is, and that reminds me, some of my favorite places were discovered by walking into some tiny, hole in the wall establishment. Actually, these are not establishments. A better term is "joint". These joints look like nothing from the outside. In fact, some of them look scary. No matter. If I get a recommendation or see that the place does brisk business - hell, sometimes all it takes is the smell of something delicious coming from inside - I'll give it a try. This brings me to the events leading up to my current predicament.
So there I am, having already decided to try the new Korean barbecue joint that opened down the street. I walk in. It's a small place, but packed with people and the place smells good. I sat down, and took a look at the menu. Whoa. Whoa! Half the menu is Korean food, some of which is barbecue, but then the rest is, I want to say American kids' menu. Mac n' cheese. Beans n' franks. (Hot dogs, motherfucker! Get off the "frank" thing!) Anyway, so now I'm a little concerned. I decide to stick with the Korean stuff. BBQ shrimp sounds good. The place is a Korean BBQ place, I'm doing Korean BBQ. Done. Order placed. Just sit back, look around at what other people are having. I see a guy who isn't even eating Korean food. Hm, there's another. Huh, nobody is eating Korean food. Uh oh. Oh shit. I realize I've made a mistake. A grave mistake. This isn't a Korean BBQ place with some sketchy American food thrown on the menu. It's an American food place with some sketchy Korean BBQ thrown on the menu. It's all Koreans in there, eating chicken strips and tater tots. I need to get out of there. I need to somehow get up and leave before anyone sees me. But before I could do that, my food arrived. And that's when I met you. You who put me here. If only I'd stuck to my insticts, shrimp. But no, you tricked me. Fuck you, bus.
At the time, you looked... good. Sitting on my plate, with your little tails still on, even though you KNOW that bothers me, shrimp. If I wanted to take the fucking tails off myself, I'd have cooked at home! Sons of bitches!! Again, I digress. So there you were, a little spicy, but cooked well, with no weird flavors. Thank god. Crisis averted. Phew! I finished dinner, paid, then left feeling pretty good about the whole thing. I don't know if I'd go back, but it wasn't bad.
So then after running (walking, actually) a few errands, I headed home, which was about 20 blocks away. After a couple blocks, I noticed I was sweating. It's a good long walk, but didn't think I should have been sweating. And even though I was sweating, I felt uncomfortably warm. Right about then, you turned on me, shrimp. You fucking turned on me.
I actually don't remember some parts of it, the trip from that dirty sidewalk to this cold floor. I remember a lot of people out on the sidewalk, all of them in my way, and they were painted green. Well no, there were people wearing green. There was one girl who was painted green. I remember her for two reasons: One, she was topless, and her whole torso was painted emerald green. Two, she was throwing up into the gutter, just like I was. I think I remember her trying to talk between bouts of sickness, but either she made no sense, or I couldn't decipher English. Probably both. Let me just take a moment to say that if you need a shitload of people to get out of your way quickly, I recommend throwing the fuck up. Trust me, people will move. I think it being St. Patrick's Day helped, so try that. Most people will be drunk, and won't get fighty about it. And if you get any of them to join you, well then Bob's your uncle. (Not Frank, shithead!)
Anyway, I made it home. Panic-stricken, I headed to the bathroom, and again I threw the fuck up. Just finished, in fact. And now I sit here where you left me, shrimp, on the floor of the bathroom. I sit here panting, and I can feel another wave creeping up on me. But wait... my stomach feels like it's going to die, but there's also pain... lower. No, not pain. Gurgling. It's... it's speaking. Oh god! What is happening?! Which end is going to betray me?! I don't know whether I'm going to puke again or give birth to Cthulhu! What the fuck are you doing in there, shrimp?! Did half of you stop in my stomach while the other half kept going? I... I don't know whether to sit on the toilet or in front of it. AAAAAAAAAA! This is disgusting in so many ways!! I would gladly make a deal with the devil herself to get out of this. Cure me or kill me, I don't care. Call me Frank. Just make it stop. Oh hey, the tub is kinda close. And with that, I think I have a plan.
[later]
I am less a human being now, but at least that is done. There is simply nothing left inside me. No shrimp, no liquid, hell I think I saw a fucking organ come out. I still feel terrible, but maybe I can s- no. NO. Shrimp, make up your mind! In or out!! You can't jus- ohgod ohgod ohgod! Out! Out! OUT!!
[much later]
I don't have much time. I hear the call of Cthulhu once more, and I cannot resist. I think I have time to get some water, and I just wanted to say, if anyone ever tells me, "Hey, let's try something new", ever, I am going to punch that person in the fucking face. Or in their drunk, green tits. My name is Frank, and I will never try a new restaurant again.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Sick bus
Hello, sick. I hate you. Do you know why I hate you? You've turned me into you. That's right. People don't say "I have a sickness inside me" anymore. Apparently you've adapted to the times, and grown a huge set of balls, sick. Because now they say "I am sick". We become you. You evil fuck. That is twisted on a whole new level. It's not enough to make us feel miserable, no. You have to consume our entire beings too? How did you get this god complex?
Being sick sucks. A friend got my spouse sick. Then me. Then another friend. Then I got a co-worker sick, she says. I say different, but she keeps with the demon, so I'll leave it be.
Anyway, between, oh, every goddamn person I have ever known being sick, I've managed to stay sick through an entire month. A fucking month. You go to hell, and you die, sick. I am tired of being sick. TIRED!! If you are not over and done with by tomorrow morning, it is over for you.
You are not my spouse, so fuck you, bus! You don't get to stay with me every day for the rest of my life! And you do NOT get to fuck me. You're not the kind of thing one takes home to the parents, know what I mean? Maybe try to make people feel better instead of worse. People might actually like you then. Instead you act like some goddamn invader, trying to fill me with your goo. No means no, you fucking rapist. I'd rather have the entire fucking Cirque du Soleil do their final march through my ass than deal with you any more. That's right, sick. I'd rather my ass bleed out than be with you another day. That is disgusting.
Being sick sucks. A friend got my spouse sick. Then me. Then another friend. Then I got a co-worker sick, she says. I say different, but she keeps with the demon, so I'll leave it be.
Anyway, between, oh, every goddamn person I have ever known being sick, I've managed to stay sick through an entire month. A fucking month. You go to hell, and you die, sick. I am tired of being sick. TIRED!! If you are not over and done with by tomorrow morning, it is over for you.
You are not my spouse, so fuck you, bus! You don't get to stay with me every day for the rest of my life! And you do NOT get to fuck me. You're not the kind of thing one takes home to the parents, know what I mean? Maybe try to make people feel better instead of worse. People might actually like you then. Instead you act like some goddamn invader, trying to fill me with your goo. No means no, you fucking rapist. I'd rather have the entire fucking Cirque du Soleil do their final march through my ass than deal with you any more. That's right, sick. I'd rather my ass bleed out than be with you another day. That is disgusting.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Hellahecka bus
Let's you and I have a chat... about language. Let us start with a question: What is wrong with you? With us? Can we not just use the languages we already have without making up new shit to learn?
Of course, refinement will and should occur. I'm all for the advancement of language as a whole. The following words, however, cannot be considered as betterment, and therefore will be treated with utmost contempt, as will the orator. In proper terms, if you use these words, and you are not making a joke out of them, you are a fucking moron, and I wish you death. No, no, better. I wish I could kill you. Now pay attention, you simple Cro-Magnon son of a bitch.
"Supposebly." As we peruse the dictionary, we find that... well, actually we can not find this word. Why, neanderthal? Because this is not a word. Let us instead try "supposedly." Now there is a fine word. And here it is in the dictionary. Note the "D". Now fucking say it, you wide-eyed protohuman! With a "D"!
"Aks". This is simply not a word. There is an entry for "ax", but this is a cutting tool, not something relating to questions. You do not "aks" a question. You "ask" it. "S" before "K". Now you try, you backwoods bumfuck caveman.
"Rediculous." You goddamn hoary taint! If you type that shit ever again, I will kill you. With an ax. In your stupid fucking face. On the goat ass. I know it doesn't make sense! Fuck y- YOU'RE DEAD!! DEAD!!
[the author takes a few moments to compose]
Shall we continue, gentle reader? Yes, let's.
"Irregardless." Guess what? NOT A FUCKING WORD!!! You're actually making more work for yourself with that attempt at speech. Instead of trying to speak, shitass, please just carve out your mouth and never attempt to spew forth sound from it again.
What in the name of... what in the fuck is "hella"? Friend troglodyte, did you know that we already have, in the English language, a word that means "very"? IT'S FUCKING "VERY"!!! It's actually shorter than "hella"! And you try to pass it off to small children disguised as "hecka"? Is that supposed to be cute? Fuck you in your goat ass, and fuck your shitarded adjective!
Perhaps this lesson has been harsh. Perhaps it seems snooty. To that I say fuck you, bus. I will end you. If you want to speak, try an actual spoken language. Without language we're no better than mimes.
Of course, refinement will and should occur. I'm all for the advancement of language as a whole. The following words, however, cannot be considered as betterment, and therefore will be treated with utmost contempt, as will the orator. In proper terms, if you use these words, and you are not making a joke out of them, you are a fucking moron, and I wish you death. No, no, better. I wish I could kill you. Now pay attention, you simple Cro-Magnon son of a bitch.
"Supposebly." As we peruse the dictionary, we find that... well, actually we can not find this word. Why, neanderthal? Because this is not a word. Let us instead try "supposedly." Now there is a fine word. And here it is in the dictionary. Note the "D". Now fucking say it, you wide-eyed protohuman! With a "D"!
"Aks". This is simply not a word. There is an entry for "ax", but this is a cutting tool, not something relating to questions. You do not "aks" a question. You "ask" it. "S" before "K". Now you try, you backwoods bumfuck caveman.
"Rediculous." You goddamn hoary taint! If you type that shit ever again, I will kill you. With an ax. In your stupid fucking face. On the goat ass. I know it doesn't make sense! Fuck y- YOU'RE DEAD!! DEAD!!
[the author takes a few moments to compose]
Shall we continue, gentle reader? Yes, let's.
"Irregardless." Guess what? NOT A FUCKING WORD!!! You're actually making more work for yourself with that attempt at speech. Instead of trying to speak, shitass, please just carve out your mouth and never attempt to spew forth sound from it again.
What in the name of... what in the fuck is "hella"? Friend troglodyte, did you know that we already have, in the English language, a word that means "very"? IT'S FUCKING "VERY"!!! It's actually shorter than "hella"! And you try to pass it off to small children disguised as "hecka"? Is that supposed to be cute? Fuck you in your goat ass, and fuck your shitarded adjective!
Perhaps this lesson has been harsh. Perhaps it seems snooty. To that I say fuck you, bus. I will end you. If you want to speak, try an actual spoken language. Without language we're no better than mimes.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Soggy cereal bus
I can't figure you out, cereal. You're delicious and wholesome, yet you get soggy way too quickly. You don't let me savor the flavor. I have to wolf down my breakfast, otherwise it'd be like eating rain-soaked newspaper on the sidewalk. I don't get it, cereal. Do you want me to enjoy my meal or not? Are you a good witch or a bad witch?
I don't want to be rushed. It's morning. This speed-eating you force me into is simply bullshit. It's like some twisted race against nature, and I just don't want to be part of the great cycle of life. But you know what, cereal bitch? I am winning anyway. That's right. Every bite, still crunchy and cris- Holy shit! You sneaky bran weasel! You're trying to distract me with my own hate, and getting soggy while I'm typing. Very clever. Well fuck you. There! Screw the spoon, I just turned the whole goddamn bowl up and drank it down! I have beaten you, do you hear?! I have defied Newton's laws and I have beaten you. Go fuck yourself, bus.
You know, I'm still not sure that I got through to you. I am not fucking around here, cereal. Listen, this soggy business is serious, and don't think I won't find a breakfast mistress if you can't meet my needs. There are lots of tantalizing options out there, and they are all single and looking. If you believe your raisins are enough to keep me at home, you are sadly mistaken. What do you have to say about cranberries and honey clusters? Or maybe strawberries and cream, hm? I have two words for you, cereal: colored marshmallows. Do you understand what I'm saying, you nasty shitcock?! How 'bout three more words?: magically fucking delicious!
Hmm... I do still have the craving though. Goddamnit, I still didn't get to enjoy my food! Fine, I'll just go get another bowl of something, and it won't be you, you goddamned raisin ice queen. Maybe these pebble things. Ooh, chocolate or fruity flavors! They look tast- JESUS CHRIST BANANAS!!! I merely thought about getting milk and the pebbles turned soggy!! Fuck me in the goat ass! Well what the fuck am I sup-
So... uh, raisins, huh? I like raisins. You know, if you aren't doing anything tomorrow morning, maybe we could talk over breakfast. What do you say, my love?
I don't want to be rushed. It's morning. This speed-eating you force me into is simply bullshit. It's like some twisted race against nature, and I just don't want to be part of the great cycle of life. But you know what, cereal bitch? I am winning anyway. That's right. Every bite, still crunchy and cris- Holy shit! You sneaky bran weasel! You're trying to distract me with my own hate, and getting soggy while I'm typing. Very clever. Well fuck you. There! Screw the spoon, I just turned the whole goddamn bowl up and drank it down! I have beaten you, do you hear?! I have defied Newton's laws and I have beaten you. Go fuck yourself, bus.
You know, I'm still not sure that I got through to you. I am not fucking around here, cereal. Listen, this soggy business is serious, and don't think I won't find a breakfast mistress if you can't meet my needs. There are lots of tantalizing options out there, and they are all single and looking. If you believe your raisins are enough to keep me at home, you are sadly mistaken. What do you have to say about cranberries and honey clusters? Or maybe strawberries and cream, hm? I have two words for you, cereal: colored marshmallows. Do you understand what I'm saying, you nasty shitcock?! How 'bout three more words?: magically fucking delicious!
Hmm... I do still have the craving though. Goddamnit, I still didn't get to enjoy my food! Fine, I'll just go get another bowl of something, and it won't be you, you goddamned raisin ice queen. Maybe these pebble things. Ooh, chocolate or fruity flavors! They look tast- JESUS CHRIST BANANAS!!! I merely thought about getting milk and the pebbles turned soggy!! Fuck me in the goat ass! Well what the fuck am I sup-
So... uh, raisins, huh? I like raisins. You know, if you aren't doing anything tomorrow morning, maybe we could talk over breakfast. What do you say, my love?
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Puppet bus
What. The. Fuck.
What the fuck is this? Why is there a puppet? What's that ticking noi- oh, he seems to be wondering the same thing. He's... singing? He's singing.
Why in the hell would anyone just s- did a second puppet just jump up and yell "Dumbledore"? Yes. I've gone insane. This cannot be rea- there's another! Another puppet!
What in the shit has happened to the fabric of reality? It's torn somehow. I don't kn- another puppet!!
Who the hell is running this show? It's... wait. It... no. NO! Nnnnnngaahhh! It's stuck in there now! Oh, fuck you, bus. GET OUT OF MY MIND!! Stop ru- HEY! Legs, what do you think you are doing? Stop bobbing up and down! YOU LITTLE TRAITORS!! I WILL KILL YOU!! YOU ARE DEAD TO ME, DO YOU HEAR?! ARGH! SONG, GODDAMN YOU, GET OUT OF MY HEAD! GET OUT OF MY... MY... my head... my... head...
Snape, Snape, Severus Snape. Snape, Snape...
Note: You have failed me, internet. All I needed was a little clip of Chekov screaming in Wrath of Khan. That's all I needed. But no. I couldn't have that link for my little blog. You are the big, strong internet. Fuck you in the goat ass, internet. I will not forget this insolence.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Lobster Shack bus
Son... of a bitch!
Let me get this straight:
You are closed on weekends.
You are closed Mondays.
You are closed Tuesdays.
You are closed Wednesdays.
Then you think, "How 'bout I close for the holidays... for a month?"
Okay, fine, acceptable. Wait, no, the other thing... totally fucking unacceptable!!
How in the fuck can you operate a business like that?! You can't just- How do you make any- Who the hell do you- *igick* AAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!
You know what? How 'bout fuck you, bus? I'll start my own business. How 'bout that, you nasty wombat cocksucker?! We'll serve lasagna sandwiches, giant chicken pot pies, and bacon-doughnuts. And we'll be open all the time! 24/7, you sack of shit.
You want some of this? You want to take me on? You see this grin on my face? Say your goodbyes and bring it, you shitmoth.
24 motherfucking 7.
Let me get this straight:
You are closed on weekends.
You are closed Mondays.
You are closed Tuesdays.
You are closed Wednesdays.
Then you think, "How 'bout I close for the holidays... for a month?"
Okay, fine, acceptable. Wait, no, the other thing... totally fucking unacceptable!!
How in the fuck can you operate a business like that?! You can't just- How do you make any- Who the hell do you- *igick* AAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!
You know what? How 'bout fuck you, bus? I'll start my own business. How 'bout that, you nasty wombat cocksucker?! We'll serve lasagna sandwiches, giant chicken pot pies, and bacon-doughnuts. And we'll be open all the time! 24/7, you sack of shit.
You want some of this? You want to take me on? You see this grin on my face? Say your goodbyes and bring it, you shitmoth.
24 motherfucking 7.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Demon bus
The dark, lifeless eyes that burn into my soul - black eyes, like a doll's eyes. That smug grin, plastered on your impish visage. And those ears... you think they make you some kind of god? I can only assume that is some sort of reverse brain-parasite, disgorging its foul sustenance directly into your dark, evil mind. Shit, the audacity to pull something like that out in the open... egad!
Your skills at deception may make you seem all-knowing to others, but you don't fool me, devil. As if the leathery wings weren't proof enough, it's plain to see that your legs, if you can call them legs, are attached to your sausage body directly at the feet! And it's a known fact that demons have no knees!
There you are then, lain open, exposed. Hah! What have you got to say for yourself? Whatever it is, my response is "Fuck you, bus! You could at least let me pet you every once in a while!!"
UPDATE: The demon has a weakness. It is bacon. He is mine.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Morning Calisthenics bus
At first I thought it was sweet. "Oh nice, old folks out at the park in the morning, socializing and keeping in shape." Then I heard the de facto drill sergeants blowing their whistles and shouting at the ranks. Then I saw the weapons. Ribbons and sticks to be sure, but also swords. Fucking swords! Some old bag almost decapitated me one Monday when I wasn't as alert as I should have been. Jesus Christ bananas! It's still dark-thirty in the morning! I cannot deal with this horseshit!
As if that isn't bad enough, if you keep your distance from The Decapitator and divert your eyes toward the center of the swarm, you'll see the elite death squads. Those others may just be retirees, old folks with deadly weaponry who live otherwise normal lives. But these elite cocksuckers look like they're carved out of moon rock, and they will kill you. These gnarled sons of bitches are weapons. You'll see them out there, practicing to cut a man in half with the edge of their hand, and then when someone gets too close, KA-CHOONK. I saw one of these mother fuckers trying to push over a tree! A tree!! Screw global warming, these shrivelled assassins are attacking the earth directly!
I think what scares me the most is that I know one day I'll see their leader, and with a look he'll vaporize me in a beautiful display of blue light and smoke. I hate these fuckers. They scare the piss out of me. But they may just be our last line of defense when the zombie invasion comes. Fucking zombies. Fuck those monsters, and fuck you too, bus.
As if that isn't bad enough, if you keep your distance from The Decapitator and divert your eyes toward the center of the swarm, you'll see the elite death squads. Those others may just be retirees, old folks with deadly weaponry who live otherwise normal lives. But these elite cocksuckers look like they're carved out of moon rock, and they will kill you. These gnarled sons of bitches are weapons. You'll see them out there, practicing to cut a man in half with the edge of their hand, and then when someone gets too close, KA-CHOONK. I saw one of these mother fuckers trying to push over a tree! A tree!! Screw global warming, these shrivelled assassins are attacking the earth directly!
I think what scares me the most is that I know one day I'll see their leader, and with a look he'll vaporize me in a beautiful display of blue light and smoke. I hate these fuckers. They scare the piss out of me. But they may just be our last line of defense when the zombie invasion comes. Fucking zombies. Fuck those monsters, and fuck you too, bus.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Drafty Restaurant bus
Listen, I know it's a temperate climate. I realize that 300 days of the year you need neither air conditioning nor heating to sit and eat comfortably in any of the eateries around. But on those other 70 days (fuck you, bus, I know how many goddamn days there are), you need to think about your customer and say, "I've got your back." Cool them off when it's hot and pump in some heat when it's cold. Do you hear me?
And here is the most important thing, and your life depends upon this, bus, so look at me and take heed. A fan? An open window or door? All fine when it's warm out. But if you touch that goddamn door or prop open that fucking window when it's cold outside, I will carve you open and tauntaun your ass. Do you understand? That ice cold breeze shooting up my spine is not refreshing. I came into your establishment to get out of the cold. I do not want to shiver uncontrollably at the table. Oh, so the cooks and waiters are warm from the kitchen and want to cool off? Guess what? You pay them. I pay you. Fuck them, and fuck you, bus. Close the fucking door. Isn't the customer always right? Be a man, bus! Coward! Bastard! Coward!
And here is the most important thing, and your life depends upon this, bus, so look at me and take heed. A fan? An open window or door? All fine when it's warm out. But if you touch that goddamn door or prop open that fucking window when it's cold outside, I will carve you open and tauntaun your ass. Do you understand? That ice cold breeze shooting up my spine is not refreshing. I came into your establishment to get out of the cold. I do not want to shiver uncontrollably at the table. Oh, so the cooks and waiters are warm from the kitchen and want to cool off? Guess what? You pay them. I pay you. Fuck them, and fuck you, bus. Close the fucking door. Isn't the customer always right? Be a man, bus! Coward! Bastard! Coward!
Bum Smoke bus
Stinkwhore dirty fuck! Stop standing outside the places I frequent! I know you found that cigarette you're smoking on the ground, and now you're filling the entryway with not only your own noxious disease air, but also that of whoever had that in their mouth before you. And the fucking street! And now I've unwittingly stepped outside and breathed in, thinking I might get some air. But no, now I have FUCKING BUBONIC PLAGUE! I can taste your mouth in this cloud. Jesus fuck... I can feel the buboes forming already. GAAAAH Fuck you, bus! Now I have to die. Fuck you, bus.
Tourist bus
Asshole shitbucket! I have to drive this way to get to work! Stop clogging up goddamn Lombard! It's a street! With curves! Holy shit!! Walk your ass over there and get out of the road! I will rip your head off and stick it up your wife's ass! And hers I'll cram up your ass! Get off the street, or there shall be a reckoning! Fuck you, bus.
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