Dear Guy on the Escalator Behind Me

Commuting! I don't have to tell you, it's a blast! Interacting with your fellow man? Mingling with the best and brightest? It's a privilege, I tell you! A PRIVILEGE!

Here are a few recycled Twitter posts to prove it.

Dear Guy Behind Me on the Escalator: STOP sighing. I'm not climbing. It's an ESCALATOR. If I wanted to climb stairs, I'd have taken the stairs.

Dear Guy Behind Me on the Escalator: Perhaps you haven't heard, escalators were invented for the lazy, not the over-aggressive and douchey.

Dear Guy Behind Me on the Escalator: Keep sighing and I'll show you how my fist was invented for your goddamn nuts.

Wait a second ... Holy crap! Maybe the escalator WAS originally invented for your goddamn nuts!

Till next we meet ...

Dear NJ Transit Commuters ...

And so the recycling effort continues. Here's a selection of my Twittered posts from yesterday ...

Dear Manhattan Tourists: I know you have no idea where you are or where you’re going -- but you’re in my way. Could you please get lost a little faster?

Dear NJ Transit Commuters: STOP running, and shoving, and elbowing to get to the train. It is NOT the last chopper out of Saigon.

Dear Elderly NJ Transit Commuter: You probably don’t really need that cane. Considering you just blew past me at a DEAD RUN.

Dear NJ Transit Commuters: Exactly why ARE you running for this train? Are you worried you’ll be late for home?

Dear NJ Transit Commuters: Are you completely unfamiliar with how stairs work? It’s called a line and it starts behind me.

Dear NJ Transit Commuters: Seriously. Stop running. This isn’t Wal-Mart and they’re not giving away VCRs.

All aboard the Crazy Train. Next Stop? Lord of the Goddamn Flies.

Dear NJ Transit Commuters: Again, why all the pushing and shoving? Why the hell are you in such a hurry to get to New Jersey?

Dear NJ Transit Commuters: Stop running. This is not Pamplona and there are no bulls behind you.

Dear NJ Transit Commuters: Fun Science Fact: Elbowing me in the sternum as you sprint by will not make trains move faster.

Dear NJ Transit Commuters: You are SO lucky I don’t own a taser. I would drain this city’s electric grid dry, muthafuckas.


Till next we meet ...

Ah, Saturday ... How About An Unwinnable Quest?

Hello, Saturday! I've missed you!

The sweet, sweet aroma of indolence and sloth fills the nostrils.

Surely all is glorious in the world.

But maybe I should consider doing something a bit more ambitious than lazing on the couch, soaking up conditioned air and napping through an unending stream of Forensics Files episodes.

I know, I know. That seems like crazy talk. But it's worth making an effort to at least appear virtuous. Right?

But I can't really think of anything I NEED to do just now ...

Oh.

Right.

The lawn.

Crap.

All right, fine. I'll mow the damn lawn.

Let's see. I think I've got a thing around here you can use for that ... what's it called ...?


Lawnmower! Right.

Let me just yank the cord and--


Crap.

Hmm. Maybe I have another tool I could use for this ...


Too slow.

Any other choices?


Too labor-intensive.

Next?

I don't even know what that means.

What else you got?


Not really practical.

Damn. I guess that means I'm headed to that place where weekends go to die ...

And guess what ... they don't have the part. Not only that, I checked a second Home Depot in my area and they didn't have it either.

Welcome to Sucktown, NJ. Population: Home Depot.


Lowe's to the rescue!


THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!!

I WIN!!



What do you mean I have to take the mower apart and install it now?

Crap.

What do you mean it's too dark out to do anything now?

Double-crap.

(sigh)

Can't wait for tomorrow. When I will feed Sunday to the lawn as well.

Till next we meet ...

Dear Lady on the Train ...

Please find reprinted below, a selection of my Twitter posts from this morning's commute. (Sure, you could call it cheating. But I prefer to call it "recycling." I'm all about green, eco-friendly, sustainable comedy.)

Dear Lady on Train: If I've got my iPod cranked ALL the way up and I can STILL hear you yelling into your phone, you might be too loud.

Dear Lady on Train: I don't know where you buy your hair dye, but that particular shade of two-tone orange appears nowhere in Nature.

Dear Lady on Train: Seriously. The yelling into the phone thing is getting old. The first half hour was a delight, but it's time to hang up.

Dear Lady on Train: Your awful dye-job isn't fooling anyone. You're not young. Nor do you appear to be a party clown.

"Can you hear me now?"

Dear Lady on Train: Perfume is not intended to have "stopping power." It's supposed to smell nice, not incapacitate an attacker.

Dear Lady on Train: If you could see all the elaborate and spectacularly gory ways I'm imagining your death, you might lower your voice.

Dear Lady on Train: SHUT UP!! SHUT UP!! SHUT UP!! SHUT UP!! SHUT UP!! SHUT UP!! SHUT UP!! SHUT UP!! SHUT UP!! SHUT UP!! SHUT UP!! SHUT--

Dear Train Tunnel: Sweet merciful fuck. Thank you for existing.


Till next we meet ...

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream ... Cuz It's Bullshit!

Double scoop of righteous indignation? Don't mind if I do.

So, after a recent ... oh, let's call it a "Brush With The Law" ... I was on the NJ Motor Vehicle website doing a bit of research.

(See, I got a couple of tickets recently. Oooh, I hope they're to a show! Or maybe a theme park!)

Anyhow, during said research I happened upon a list of moving violations and something struck me. Hard.

"Improper passing of a frozen dessert truck."

Well, that didn't make any sense at all. So I read it again. And sure enough:

Frozen.

Dessert.

Truck.

Written right there. Right into New Jersey law.

Huh.

And so, by the power vested in me by nobody in particular ...

I call "Bullshit."

We concur. 'Tis bullshit, verily.

I mean, it's one thing for traffic to be held up by a school bus that's collecting or depositing its passengers. School is a necessary and important part of society. And I, for one, don't mind being inconvenienced by it.

But an ice cream truck? Really, New Jersey? Really? This is something you thought was so important that it needed to be explicitly spelled out in your State Vehicle and Traffic Code?

So the entire world has to stop and wait whenever a fat kid waddles across the street to get their gooey, melty, sticky fix from a carny/ex-con in a rusted-out, converted ambulance?

Yes, the world waits for you, you tub of shit.

So I repeat for emphasis: Bullshit.

I blame the powerful Frozen Dessert Truck lobby for exerting their delicious, delicious influence to get a law passed that's favorable to them.

Their lobbyists watch you while you sleep. Fatty.

Just another example of how the common man is crushed under the sticky thumb of Big Sweetness.

Bull. Shit.

Not a suggestion. That would be illegal.

Till next we meet ...