Subway Skuzzo, Peeves, and Romeo's Death

You know how there are those little things that annoy you, and it makes you look like a complete douche when you point it out because usually it is something very common and then you offend everyone around you but then if you don't rant about it then it stays in your head and then moves down to your fists and you punch someone/something/everyone/everything/bomb the school/car/house/friend/zoo?

Things like run-on sentences.

There is a new peeve in my brain book of peeves (sorry if your peeve is metaphors, or someone using the word "peeve" 4 times in the same sentence):

I have noticed a huge Facebook trend in people not calling others by their names, but rather by their relationship to that person. Like, "Chillin' with the bestfriend" (BEST and FRIEND are two separate words by the way. Just so you know. I don't know who the fuck decided to glue them together but man that awful trend caught on well too)... or people who say "Dinner with the girlfriend," "Shopping with the parents," "watching TV with the dog," "sleeping with the teacher"--- I DON'T FUCKING KNOW but seriously these people have names! Every time I see that it makes me feel like those people are being objectified; it just seems disrespectful. If anyone called me "the girlfriend" I'd be like "not anymore, pal" *smack*. I think it's more so the fact that "the" is placed behind the noun... because if you said "my girlfriend" it doesn't seem so aggressive. Meh. The writer shall stop on this one.

COOL! On a different topic, I found something interesting the other day on the subway the other day [OH SHIT I'M TALKING IN CIRCULAR SENTENCES AGAIN NOOOO], and I thought I would share my experience. I was on a fairly lengthy journey, and this man gets on and stands across from me. First of all, he's wearing sweatpants. And if you know anything about me, you will know my point of view on wearing sweatpants in public. I know it's disgustingly shallow/superficial/mega dickwad of me but... I can't help it. So Yucky McSweats gets on and he's chillin' all swaggerlicious and then he pulls out this little tin from his pocket. I'm staring at this tin trying to think of what it could be, and then he opens it and pulls out a chunk of this brown shit and I thought to myself there is no fucking way this dirthoe is going to do dip on the subway! Where will he spit! He puts it in his mouth and he looks like a fucking hick or a man with a lip tumour. GAH WHERE WILL HE SPIT EW EW EW! Well he answered my thought, by pulling out a pop can from his backpack with a giant hole in the top. This fellow likely carries this can, swooshing with black saliva in his bag all day. Gross. Anywho, I see him spit into the can... spitting really grosses me out, like, if he was taking a shit in the corner I'd be less grossed out... but I couldn't stop watching. It was like, omg this is so fucking nasty yet I don't want to look away! Now, either he was actually a mind reader and heard what I was thinking about his sweatpants, or he saw me transfixed on his every move, because he kinda glanced at me and then turned his back to me. Oh well.

OH I just remembered I saw another interesting thing, like, yesterday. There was a dead pigeon outside of my building. It was still in tact but just chillin' there dead. I felt sad about the pigeon, and I thought "I wonder what this pigeon did for society? How did he effect peoples' lives?" And then I snapped out of my reflecting when I realized it's a fucking pigeon and all they do is shit on stuff and fly way too low (one hit me in the head once ... *not impressed*). Dead things are interesting. Why should I feel remorse for a dead pigeon? I guess I shouldn't. But there is something about every life that has value; even a disease infested, shit bombing, low flying, food stealing, villainous pigeon.

Hypothetically, what if the dead pigeon- let's call him Romeo- was doing his normal shit disturbing at Nathan Phillips Square, when he stole a woman's hat off her head. This brawny onlooker saw the injustice, and chased after the pigeon, managing to swat the hat away (don't worry, Romeo was unharmed). So the muscle man gives the hat woman her chapeau back (despite the diseases it is likely now carrying) and they go out for lunch and get married and have little muscular, hat-wearing children who will collectively cure cancer one day. SO YOU SEE, children, Romeo the pigeon could have done something magical for the world. Likely not. But still. It sounds nice doesn't it?

RIP Romeo, you [may have but probably not] done us well.


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