Dear Dentist,
It is now 1:59 AM and I am now back inside having spent the last hour locked out. So this is how it went down. I didn't grab my keys on the way out to smoke the cigritttss because I am a moron and as the door downstairs closed I knew that I was fucked. I had a cig, a lighter, my phone (I have an IPhone, its no big deal), and a fucking hibernating bear for a motherfucking roommate. Its fortunate that the four fire sprinklers in our apartment are all in your room because a fire alarm alone would not penetrate your dream bubble of sordid brace porn and media manipulation. I called your cellphone over ten times, texted you and rang the buzzer for about 3 minutes if you were to add it all up. And I called 411 to get the apartment phone number. Yeah I called 411 for my own number. Sups. That phone has the loudest most abrasive ring known to man. I called that over 10 times as well. I could hear it from downstairs and even from there it was harsh. During this time all I had for entertainment was scoping the passing honey wagons and grooving to the hot beats that occasionally rolled by. But as the hour passed they dwindled. Things were looking grim. But I kept at it and eventually I heard footsteps upstairs and the door getting buzzed open. I sprang up, climbed 6 steps, and barreled through the door in about a second. I was like a coiled snake. And I burst open the door of the apartment to sing your praises and renounce Jebus only to see that you are still asleep. The footsteps I heard thumping were not those of a lumbering half-asleep dentist but of a rightfully angry neighbor. I must have dominated her world for that hour with the apartment phone and the buzzer.
Five things I have learned:
1. Keys open doors. Bring them with you when you go places.
2. I am mildly retarded.
3. I have little to no ass. It is currently killing me, not from the training, but from sitting on the concrete steps.
4. I have an apology to make to a neighbor.
5. You're toast in the event of an emergency or intruder.
Best of the day to you sir,
Face
A Concerned Citizen
Friday, September 25, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
I'm On A Train
Dear Random Dude on the Red Line,
Hey, how’s it going man? Are you having a good morning? I bet you’re thinking: it’s Thursday, the work week (if you even have a job) is coming to a close, I got some cool shit (at least whatever a man of your character considers that to be) going on this weekend and I just stepped on to an almost empty T car @ 8AM which is about as rare as seeing a one eyed dog. Just a note here as I got myself thinking, my writing style basically consists of run-on sentences. Oh how Mrs. Cupp would scream at me if she were reading this. I mean it’s not totally impossible but when you see a one eyed dog, much like a near empty T car at this time, you really reflect and wonder how the hell that happened.
Anyway, dude, you get on to this empty car and look around, here’s where I take exception to your actions/lifestyle/hating your dad. You’re looking around, I can see the excitement in your eyes, wondering where the hell am I going to settle myself for the next 20-25 minutes? I have so many options and options are a beautiful thing, I agree. So you’re looking around, first to the right, wow three people all in seats and then to the left, four seats out of a possible six seats available and then there’s me, standing in the doorway that leads betwixt subway cars.
I am minding my own business. I’m reading the WSJ, I have headphones on (iPod shuffle has taken me to a little land I like to call MGMT town this morning) and I look up to see if any hot chicks are getting on, I notice you peering around, and all of a sudden your logical decision making skills turn off. This is where I’m utterly confused. There’s six total feet between the door you just used to enter the train and myself. You’ve already assessed the situation to the right of you and HAD to have noticed that there was a plethora of seating available. HAD TO HAVE! In this time, your split second of indecision, an attractive (T attractive (I’ll break down that another time)) lady steps on and moves toward me. SWEET. I now can relax the WSJ and ogle this girl for the extent of my miserable ride to work. As she sits down in the seat to my immediate right and smiles at me (I obviously smile/head nod back at her) you in your pathetic tight eh I borrowed these from my girlfriend jeans, effin wicked gay ass haircut, bracelets and shit and just overall non-showered appearance make the executive decision to come stand RIGHT FUCKING NEXT TO ME. I mean, again, you HAD to have seen this but you still came and stood perpendicular to me totally invading my personal space (my bubble of Vibe if you will (you will don’t fight it)).
I’m totally aghast, I don’t even want to write you this letter anymore but I’ll continue. You’re a douche bag. That’s actually the end of it. I’m not continuing. I hate you. You should know that you ruined the first couple hours of what would turn out to be an awesome day. Stand next to me again, I dare you. Seriously.
-Squid
Hey, how’s it going man? Are you having a good morning? I bet you’re thinking: it’s Thursday, the work week (if you even have a job) is coming to a close, I got some cool shit (at least whatever a man of your character considers that to be) going on this weekend and I just stepped on to an almost empty T car @ 8AM which is about as rare as seeing a one eyed dog. Just a note here as I got myself thinking, my writing style basically consists of run-on sentences. Oh how Mrs. Cupp would scream at me if she were reading this. I mean it’s not totally impossible but when you see a one eyed dog, much like a near empty T car at this time, you really reflect and wonder how the hell that happened.
Anyway, dude, you get on to this empty car and look around, here’s where I take exception to your actions/lifestyle/hating your dad. You’re looking around, I can see the excitement in your eyes, wondering where the hell am I going to settle myself for the next 20-25 minutes? I have so many options and options are a beautiful thing, I agree. So you’re looking around, first to the right, wow three people all in seats and then to the left, four seats out of a possible six seats available and then there’s me, standing in the doorway that leads betwixt subway cars.
I am minding my own business. I’m reading the WSJ, I have headphones on (iPod shuffle has taken me to a little land I like to call MGMT town this morning) and I look up to see if any hot chicks are getting on, I notice you peering around, and all of a sudden your logical decision making skills turn off. This is where I’m utterly confused. There’s six total feet between the door you just used to enter the train and myself. You’ve already assessed the situation to the right of you and HAD to have noticed that there was a plethora of seating available. HAD TO HAVE! In this time, your split second of indecision, an attractive (T attractive (I’ll break down that another time)) lady steps on and moves toward me. SWEET. I now can relax the WSJ and ogle this girl for the extent of my miserable ride to work. As she sits down in the seat to my immediate right and smiles at me (I obviously smile/head nod back at her) you in your pathetic tight eh I borrowed these from my girlfriend jeans, effin wicked gay ass haircut, bracelets and shit and just overall non-showered appearance make the executive decision to come stand RIGHT FUCKING NEXT TO ME. I mean, again, you HAD to have seen this but you still came and stood perpendicular to me totally invading my personal space (my bubble of Vibe if you will (you will don’t fight it)).
I’m totally aghast, I don’t even want to write you this letter anymore but I’ll continue. You’re a douche bag. That’s actually the end of it. I’m not continuing. I hate you. You should know that you ruined the first couple hours of what would turn out to be an awesome day. Stand next to me again, I dare you. Seriously.
-Squid
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