Cavalcade of schmucks

I've come here to be shockin', y'all.

I'm minding my own business, standing like a lemming on the ferry. All I want to do is get off this barge; we're packed in like sardines. Someone brushes up against me. At first I pay no mind (remember--sardine). Happens again--third time, there's a hand on my ass (okay, now you got my attention). I turn--it's a woman (listen, Hustler fans--this ISN'T good). When I say "woman", we're talking about the Herman Munster variety. With my best half-frozen/half-nauseous stare, I ask her to kindly take her man-hands off my ass. Sorry, guys--I'm not a vagina enthusiast. I guess the lesbians have become emboldened.

You know, if a woman is going to try to pick me up, is it too much to ask for them to (at least) be attractive? You know, so I could say "you're really not my type or gender, but I love what you've done with your hair". Do I make sense?

Oh, the curse of being attractive. But then again, I guess if I looked like Ms. Grab Ass, that might be the only way to get female pulchritude. I guess spring just brings it out in people.

I know why tigers eat their young

For some, night time is the right time.
For me, the morning solitude works just fine.


Every morning before work, I eat my breakfast at a small cafe.
It's my attempt to set the day off, the right way.

There I sit, morning coffee and yogurt. Guess what happens?

"Lady--hey lady". I look up; there's a "woman" right in my face. The woman in question is a lovely mix of tobacco and rancid ass, with a face I can only describe as a mix of Bella Abzug and Lynne Stewart--complete with facial hair. Yes, she was that close.

Anyway: Stinky was trying to get my attention because she wanted
my paper (the free crappy morning rags, Metro and such). Of course, I politely say "No, sorry--I'm reading both ".

"Reading both? How can you read both?"
"Sorry", I say and shrug my shoulders.

That's it, right?

NOPE!

She then decides to imitate what I just said, complete with shoulder shrug.

"Not gonna let me read your paper, Milwaukee?" (Yes--she called me "Milwaukee")

"Why?" -- please: haven't we established she's Crazy Von Stinky Woman. She, of course, sits right in back of me muttering under her breath with every other sentence ending in "Right, Milwaukee? Right, Milwaukee?"

This went on for 10 minutes; my good morning a distant memory.

Before I leave, I give her this parting shot:

"You know, for someone who smells as bad as you do, you could try being a little nicer. Oh--and you could try getting your own paper, too. It's free."

My morning wasn't so bad after all.