seethe

so the bastard has a very complex parenting dynamic. he is divorced. he lives in new york. his son lives in tucson (that's on mars for you jerks who need a map). ergo, the bastard needs to fly on a plane because flapping just doesn't seem to work AT ALL and i haven't latched onto any science fictiony or any alien technology to get me there. so i fly. i fly jet blue. why? because i've flown it for business for the last 4 years. now here's the twist (there's always a twist jackass, don't you read?), i'm booking my flight at work. i'm booking my flight on a computer that uses an operating system that was used last century. i crashed the browser not once but 4 TIMES. the bastard was shaking with rage. fucking shaking. ask left hand rob. he came in to get coffee and i couldn't contain my rage. how hard is it to book bloody airfare! AGH!

NOW LET'S BACK UP: crowded train. pulls outta 51st. not having a good time. someone reeks of perfume/cologne and cigarettes. you know that smell. that smell that might be slightly worse than a man with the next morning whiskey sweats. the worst part about both smells is, that the culperate is rarely aware that they effing REEK of unspeakable smellatude. i deal. i'm on for two stops anyway and i'm already standing straddling this charming makeout couple, the female half of which looks like she chewed most of the shocking ink nail polish off of her fingers for breakfast before proceeding to stick her tongue in her boyfriend's ear on the 6 train. how very touching. i mean i like earwax for breakfast once in a while too but, i've gone on at length about how much i enjoy eating on the train. anyway, we pull into 42nd street/grand central. no one gets off. people want to get on. it's rush hour. yelling starts.

"step in the car"

"it's that simple"

actually lady it isn't that simple. i think the makeout twins here would really appreciate it if i didn't sit on this young man's lap so you can get 6 more inches of real estate on an already crowded train. this ain't the last chopper out of saigon. there WILL be another. christ! i hate the people that get on at grand central. fresh off the metro north and full of rage and entitlement and disdain that they have to get on the train with the masses. man that perfume/cigarette smell is gross.

—the bastard

PS: fast forward: i hit the publish button on the OS9 version of blogger and the browser crashes. could any hell be more real...or now? good thing i saved this elsewhere. god dammity dam!