Wednesday, April 30, 2008

It's that time of the year again.

The time of year, when it may be necessary to door slam some little punk ass on his bike. For YEARS I rode bike instead of driving, but my ass obeyed the fucking laws. Hey, Buddy, the light is red and there is oncoming traffic, so stop your fucking baby pink bike at the light. (That's right a baby pink 10speed) Don't weave in and out of rush hour traffic! He got through...unfortunately, but then proceeded to do the same thing to change lanes and drive AGAINST traffic. Come on. Where is the "survival of the fittest" moment here?! Couldn't we wipe his ass out with maybe just a smart-car hitting him. (TFTGOGGI) Nothing too big, just enough to fuck his leg up a bit. I tell you this, I see that ass again, and he is MINE!

It is also that time of year, when you just gotta people watch. Living in my part of the neighborhood, you see things you never thought you would see. The cop pulled up on the sidewalk feeling up the meth'ed up Rice Queen while frisking him. 2 year old Mexican girls in full on winter jackets, when it is 60. Um, Mom, she maaaaaaaaaaay be a tad bit warm in that. The 40 year old man in his suit skateboarding home. The Somalian mom and daughter waiting in the car, while hubby and young son go into the video store. The woman who is pissed and kicking her shopping cart, cuz the wheels lock once you leave the parking lot, and she had every intention of taking it with her to the liquor store across the street. "Ah, eff it. I'll just leave the cart AND groceries here and go get my beer." Not kidding here, people.

So I survive the adventures through Uptown back to Loring Park to find to tone deaf, rhythmless wannabe hippies sitting on the corner with their drums and harmonica. Um, how shall I put this...They are the wannbe hippy-sort. You know the ones I mean. Must display how alternative they are, but pretty much make themselves out to be tools. Face it, huns, you are nothing more than stoners with a deep desire to be paid attention to and accepted by fit a stereotype of a once subculture. Dreads, congos, and hemp shoes do not make a person. I am just hoping that the singing drug dealer shows up soon and kicks them off his corner. At least he is good. I have German rap blaring just so I don't have to listen to them. I am serious. No rhythm! Obviously everyone in their building told them to get the fuck out...Remember Tina, Hallett 2 girls?! Posers!