Moron #338

25 Feb

Dear Moron #338,

What the hell?! People like you should not be allowed to ride the bus.  Not only did you block the entire aisle by holding both of your arms up at the top of the poles on either side so all of us were squished to one side of the bus, your nasty-ass jacket was too short which then showed your hairy, giggly belly and your goddamn stained boxers. It’s bad enough that you wouldn’t budge when people asked you to, so instead they had to duck and crouch down under your rank smelling armpits, while at the same time trying really hard to weave around so as to not rub any part of them against you as if they were playing a live game of  Operation or Hot Potato.  One of these things just doesn’t belong, and it’s you. Next stop, my-fist-in-your-face-ville.

Love,

Allergic to you. xo

Moron #5671

23 Feb

Dear fellow bus riders,

It’s probably not a good idea to vandalize the bus when it is still in park in the station, you know? Just sayin’.

Love,

Allergic to you.xo

Sadly, this little snippet was the highlight of my yesterday (I know, get a life and such).

Picture this:

The bus is packed to the armpits, doors shut, prepared for take-off.

Moron #5671: <Runs to bus>

Passengers: <Stare blankly at moron>

Driver: <Does not open door for moron, begins to slowly take-off>

Moron #5671: <Bangs on bus, kicks bus, bangs on bus, kicks bus>

Driver: <Slams on breaks, passengers faces go flying into armpits (smelly, smelly armpits)>

Moron #5671: <Raises arms in a ‘what!’ motion>

Driver: <Screams through closed door> What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you loco? Huh? <makes crazy motion at head>

Moron #5671: <Yells multiple swears that no one can hear as the door is closed>

Driver: <Opens door> Did you just hit my fucking bus? Did you? Are you loco? Are you crazy? What is wrong with you?

Moron #5671: Ya, I hit your bus!

Me: <Trying extremely hard to contain amusement. Really, really hard>

Driver: Are admitting that you hit my vehicle?? Idiot! Do you want me to call the police?

Moron #5671: What?! No. Listen, I was running for the bus, waving and jumping, and then you just… took off.

Driver: Can you  not see this bus is full. There’s like 3 other buses behind me. What the hell is wrong with you?

Passengers: Hee hee hee. Ha ha ha.

Me: <Smiles>

Moron #5671: Well, maybe you should pay attention to your customers. Customer service!

Driver: What did I just tell you? Where would you even fit on this bus, smarty pants (nice touch).

Me: <Thinking, at this point, if I were Mr. Bus Driver, I would have said, ‘Here’s your customer service, and flipped him the bird>

Moron #5671: <Can’t think of anything intelligent to say, feeling defeated> Well! Uh… ya! like! LIKE! I was running!!!

Random Passenger: You go Forest. Run Forest, run!

Passengers: <Applaud>

Driver: <Steps up to moron’s face> DON’T YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN. WAIT FOR THE NEXT GODDAMN BUS!!! YOU ARE VERY, VERY STUPID AND DANGEROUS!

Moron #5671: <Confused look> Ya, well, like, LIKE….

Driver: <Takes off like a bat out of hell>

Passengers: <Smile and are happy for the rest of the ride, and considerate to fellow riders (i.e. muttering words such as, excuse me, thank you and please)>

So that’s all it takes? A little vandalism, a little confrontation, a little yelling and screaming… and the passengers are happy!

Good to know.

Please do not touch, lick, stroke or mount the exhibits

9 Feb

Dear commuters who rapidly caress the pole as if you are employee of the month at your local Happy Ending Rub ‘N Tug,

Although I’m aware that you probably don’t realize you are doing it, it’s definitely not very becoming (I assume my opinion would be drastically different if I were male, but… ya, nope).  Whether it’s because your gloves slide up and down, or it’s the constant slip of your sweaty palm, you look ridiculous.

I’m actually not so offended by the above part as I find it rather amusing. What bothers me is that when you do that, you touch my hand and/or finger and/or coat and/or leg, when I happen to be using the same pole or standing in your general area. Call me crazy, call me OCD, call me neurotic, call me whatever you want, but do.not.touch.me. I do not want your dirty gloves touching my hand. I do not want your sweaty palms touching my body. I do not want the surplus of  fuzz from your coat transferring on to mine. I do not want to pick your stray hairs off my coat. I do not want your backpack that smells deliciously of eggs, dirt, and peanut butter anywhere near my existence. I do not want to have to knock you out. Deal?

Love,

Allergic to you. xo

Papercuts

3 Feb

Dear moron who consequently forced another moron to give yours truly a fabulous papercut,

Not only did you continue to fondle me even though I kept moving so you had more room to read your stupid book, you swung around on the pole like the high-class subway stripper that you are and knocked me into that other moron who doesn’t understand the concept of personal space.  Thanks for that.  Since I had no time to react, I had to use other moron’s stupid book to break my fall so I could avoid my face being smothered in her crotch, which resulted in one bitch of a  papercut. Instead of knocking you over head with the much deserved overpriced bottle of Pinot Noir that was in my bag, I strategically pulled your high-class subway stripper pole move back on you as I left the train, knowing that my bag that carried that overpriced bottle of wine would whack your kneecap. To avoid this type of random violence in the future, please attend my new seminar, “Idiot’s Guide to Public Transit Etiquette” (also known as “Seriously?”).

Love,

Allergic to you. xo

16-E

26 Jan

Dear woman in seat 16-E,

Your laugh was obnoxious  and although I was offended, I was content with letting that slide, until you let multiple stink bombs blast out of your ass.  I suggest you stay away from those Spanish titled green puffy snacks, because that’s probably what did it. I also didn’t appreciate that you hogged the arm-rest and had your feet sprawled across the invisible line into my foot area, or the fact that you kept suggesting to your husband (who is gay by the way – not that there’s anything wrong with that), that you should be in my seat even though I nonchalantly let my ticket stub fall so you would pick it up and notice that actually, I am in the correct seat and you just can’t read, but you know, whatever.  I was mostly upset about the nasty smell you tried to murder me with, so much that I gave some serious thought to pulling down the emergency air supply. Stay classy, 16-E.

Love,

Allergic to you.xo

Brass Knuckles

25 Jan



Dear girl who wore brass knuckles on the subway,

After my initial shock, I’m finding myself torn between:

What the fuck?!, and

Good call, I’m mildly jealous.

In either case, good job coordinating them with your outfit. High five.

Love,

Allergic to you. xo



Germs!

20 Jan

I’m going to pull a double whammy here, because frankly, I’m lazy.

Dear guy who used his snot as a hair styling product/girl who removed her eye crusties while wearing leather gloves,

Boogerboy: It was bad enough that you used the palm of your hand as kleenex multiple times.  Was it necessary to rub it in  your hair, which you then styled as if it was gel? Very attractive, rock star. Congratulations, you made me throw up in my mouth a little. I’ve also started to rethink my faith in humanity, but you know, whatever.

Crustygirl: I understand the concept of wearing gloves on transit so your bare hands don’t touch the germ infested pole. Unless you are obsessive, I would imagine that you don’t wash your gloves as often as you wash your hands.  That being said, how exactly might you wash your leather gloves? Think about it, how many times have you worn those gloves? How many door handles, poles, and other random slimy things have you touched since then? And then…. you stuck that glove… in.your.eye. And then… you touched the pole, where your eye crusty was deposited.  And then… Mr. Fancy-business-suit touched that same pole  on the same spot where you deposited your eye crusty.  And then… Mr. Fancy-business-suit used his teeth to remove his glove that touched the pole that touched your eye crusty.

Enough said (almost)…

I believe Boogerboy and Crustygirl would make a fine couple, and live infectiously ever after (with occasional visits from  Mr. Fancy-business-suit).

In all seriousness, if you are going to do this kind of thing, do it in private or at the very least make an effort to not draw attention to yourself. Nobody needs to see that.

Enough said (for real).

Love,

Allergic to you. xo

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