The house that you wear on your back

9 Dec

Dear complete morons on transit who refuse to take off your backpack that is the size and weight of a fucking hippopotamus,

Stay in school, genius, you need it.  I’m unsure of why you need to stuff your pack  with what seems like either a dead body or five bowling balls and then fling yourself around like some kind of medieval backpack warrior on a mission to destroy the numerous random body parts of your fellow riders.

And yes, I did push you on purpose when you sandwiched me between the door and the house that you wear on your back, that by the way needs a good washing because it tastes like peanut butter and I know this because you smothered me, and before I knew it part of it was touching my lips and then you rammed it multiple times in my face possibly just incase I didn’t get a taste the first time.

In conclusion, if the thing on your back is the size of a refrigerator, for the love of god, do us all a favour, ignite your pea brain for a split second, put that education to use, and take it off.


Allergic to you. xo



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