"I Have Kung Pao Chicken!!!"

Said the overweight teen from the burbs with his face painted in his dilapidated trench coat.

That's great kid, can I have some? Oh, you're trying to be funny. I get it. It's because I'm Asian. That's original.

Your buddy up ahead with his tattered Insane Clown Posse, or whatever metal band, shirt up ahead is also doing a good job mocking the black gentleman who has headphones on. Yelling "I have fried chicken!!!" real loud is hilarious.

Your group of twenty hideous friends are so funny and original. The cold weather doesn't seem to affect those of you who are wearing short sleeves. Not to mention that the girls wearing their shirts way too tight they make the term "muffin top" a good thing. They're more like mushroom cloud tops. Yeah, I see you, you there, that girl with the pig tails, spitting. Or at least trying to, if you can't spit correctly, then don't. Yelling and making vomiting sounds after failing to expel your saliva properly so that it leaves a long string from your mouth will get you far in this world.

What's that? You still have have some Kung Pao Chicken? I'd like some if you really have it. Yes, I can hear you. Yes, you're still funny. It's evident from your cohorts laughing uncontrollably. They get the joke you're making. It's 'hey, there's an Asian, I'll make loud noises about having some Chinese food.'

Was there even a concert of some sort you were all attending? There are more of you around tonight? My, you all must laugh so hard when you tell everyone about how you made funny comments to a couple of guys while you were walking and they couldn't hear you. So funny. Loud noises get everyone's attention. Especially when you're wearing your clown make-up to emulate your beloved band. That ironic bloody clown make up really makes it that much better.

But I know what's really going on. You're a bunch of sad little children. You're in the city for the night to attend a musical event. I use that term loosely. Music, ICP, it's not my thing. You may consider it music, but it's a lot of whining and crying and yelling and a lot of loud obnoxious drumming and guitar playing that really has no melody.

Also, I know you're out to have a good time. Your idea of a good time involves the alleged public humiliation of others different from you. If different from you is a bad thing, count me in. I'd rather not be a snot nosed little (read fat) kid from the South suburbs who comes into the city doing what you do. Looking like idiots. The paint on your face just masks the real deal underneath. Insecure, bullied children who have come together to try to make others feel beneath you.

Guess what? You're not being as successful as you think. Sure you're making each other laugh. But everyone else is looking at you. Judging you. It may not be fair or right, but I'll be damned if they're not all thinking the same thing... GO BACK HOME! Your racial innuendos are not needed here. I understand that perhaps in your little suburb, that you may not have a diverse population. But here, in this city, you'll respect the diversity. You are just making yourselves look horrible. But then again, you've already done that on your own, without uttering a syllable. Your horribly painted faces, your tattered, ill-fitting, clothes and your general unkempt appearance speaks for itself. Not to mention the unnecessary yelling I heard from a block away, with headphones in.

So that's great that you have Kung Pao Chicken. It's a great meal. But where in your baggy pants, ripped at the bottom, and your torn trench coat are you storing it? In your corn rows and pig tails? Perhaps behind your grease paint? Wherever it is, you should probably take it out, it's going to cover up the stench of pork and manure you're so awesomely emitting. By the way, it seems as if the plumbing in your part of the world has some how gone horribly wrong. The showers must be down as the smell of B.O. just makes me sick.

Off to McDonalds are ya? Why aren't you going in? Oh, so they're not letting you in? I'm sure all the Black people in there would love to hear your commentary on fried chicken.


It's Not Good...

Saturday, on the way to Navy Pier, I took the Blue Line to the Grand Avenue stop. Normal for the most part, except for the single track from Division onward. Oh, and yeah, the homeless lady who just straight up stank like no other.

Woman walks in from the other car, totally looking like a homeless woman what with her nick nack bags and all. Stopping every few rows to bother some poor unsuspecting individual. She gets to where I'm standing on the other side of the train by the door to the other car. I move to let her go, and she stops to give a pound to some stranger who reluctantly does so. But then the smell hits. Seriously. She smelled like urine. Fresh and stale. I got so disgusted that I got nauseous. Had to move to another part of the car. Still then, the stench lingered so much that I feared for my intestinal fortitude. I felt sorry for whomever had to sit by her. Or stand by her. Or be within a wiff of her. That just can't be healthy.



What's She Thinking?

Um, WTF?

She's engaged to this guy:

It's not the cradle robbing that irks me. It's the two dead wives he has.


Neuro... -tic, -sis, -n

It's the crazy things that go in my head that scare me.

Sometimes I scare even myself. And other times I am amazed at what will cross my mind at certain times.



Yesterday, as I made it down the especially slippery stairs of the Washington Blue Line stop, a gentleman was handing out cards hailing the completion of the work on the Blue Line and thus eliminating "Slow Zones." Funny though is that it took an inordinate amount of time for the next train to come through. Sure the Slow Zones were eliminated, but the scheduling and staggering of the trains still leaves much to be desired. There have been times where I'll catch a train that just pulled in and yet other times when it seems as though ages have passed before the next train is even remotely in sight. Only to have the oncoming train run express and the proceeding train be packed.

And oh yeah... this guy's a winner:

Seriously Blago, what were ya thinking?!