...on language lessons

...and other lesser crap

so this morning, the bastard is walking to the train when when i'm once again trying to make my way between fast moving cars because, why should the bastard have to wait for that guy to pass when there is a perfectly fine gap between these two characters. of course what i think i didn't notice is that these guys are trying to make it out of a parking lot to make the light. he's got his window rolled down and he's got his gavone hat on. so purely out of instinct, on hand goes to open the trench to go for the steel and the other one goes right up because i thought vinnie boombatz wanted to do some bird watching. you'd think at 35 the bastard would grow the hell up but, sometimes the bastard has to be cheeky to the rubes. sure it ain't fair to him but, i have to do something with my time in hell. as he drives past he yells out, "you are fuggun white trash". for a minute there, i took it the wrong way. i thought he meant me. but , i was in my work finery so he must have meant someone else. then again if "I" was the white trash in question, how come he's the one yelling out such colorful metaphors. i 'd like to take this opportunity to beg to differ. just because your kid goes to a high price school doesn't mean you have class buddy. it means you have cash. and there isn't enough of that to buy class. jerk.

so now we're steppen to the PM and i'm riding the elevated back to the place and i get a whiff of youth culture which i have become all too familiar with, the nextel phone. anyway the bastard is just as entertained by the rude and totally inattentive behavior of the kid as he is by the reactions of the people who contort themselves into the most "offended" look they could muster. anyway, there's this greasy kid and she got one of those walky talky phones that makes the bastard wonder what kind of debt this kids dad is racking up so she can ask "where you at" to her friends. so she's chewing on her lee press on nails as if she would be better served by buying a piece of rawhide to teethe on. anyway, boop boop, ice station zebra calling and she responds to said homey with a highly cultured "ih wuz anh axeident dickface". woo hoo my prayers are answered and now as the hackneyed conversation rolls on, i get more entertained by it. then she finally dismisses her friends by telling them "dat ahm tryin to tahk to mah fahvuh but you kep beepun enh." she signs off, and resumes chewing her lee press ons. she's going to make someone wake up crying after a night of hard drinking one day 7 years from now. you can't make this stuff up.

—the bastard