Here’s another thing you don’t know about me: I’m a frickin’ psychic. But I don’t deal with all that after-life shit. It creeps me out. Instead, I channel the spirits of the living. I just close my eyes and let my fingers type whatever the spirit dictates to me. I call these bursts of thoughts Letters From The Living.â„¢ Oh, I’m feeling a vibration coming on. I better not resist it. .Ah. . .Ah. . .Nnnnnn. . .
Hey there, baby. Yeah, you. Is that a new dress? Oh, I get it. I’m not a lawyer or a doctor, so there’s no reason to talk to me. Whatever, you stuck up bitch. Is it the overcoat that’s turning you off? It’s fucking cold outside. It’s not like I’m hanging around naked under here. Well, not completely naked. Heh heh heh. Come on, don’t you wanna rest that sweet ass of yours? I’ve got a seat saved for you righhhhht here. Okay, look, maybe I haven’t “brushed my teeth” in “two weeks” or “showered” since the “Clinton administration,” but is that any reason to give me the cold shoulder? I’m a fucking human being, damn it! I have feelings! Have you seen the latest issue of Esquire? Greasy, stringy hair is all the rage in Europe. Turns out, I’m a goddamn trendsetter. Look, I’m sorry. How ’bout we just go get a coffee? We could have a nice chat and then afterwards, you could sit on my face. Yeah? Well, bite me. You’re not my type anyway!
Sincerely,
The Creepy Guy On The Bus
Whew. That took a lot out of me. Now, why do I suddenly have a craving for Ripple wine and generic cigarettes?
Throw in some off-brand Twinkies and a six-pack of pineapple soda and you’ll be mine, you unshowered, raffish lout you. Oooooohh!
Um.
Thank you, Anna. I’ll pass along the message.
Dad?????
Is that you?
It is clear now why you don’t do drugs. A long boring commute, something shorts out upstairs, and you’re sitting next to Nicole Kidman. Sitting in front of a blog screen, no ideas, you pop into a trance and entertain us with a reality moment from the transit system.
Why the hell would you need drugs?
While you are in a channelling phase, could you look under the crown of the Queen of England to figure out whatever posessed HER to knight Bill Gates? Inquiring minds want to know.
Reality sucks anyway. This saves gobs of money. Just try not to scare the children.
Dude, it’s handroll (ie Bugler or Kite) tobacco, not generic cigarettes—other than that, I’d say GET OUT OF MY MIND!
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