Morgan Ellis (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} bbwmorgan) wrote,@ 2006-09-09 15:26:00 |
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Dear World: Kindly Shut the Fuck Up
Dear shrieky hell harpy on the Friday afternoon High Park street car:
As soon as our streetcar arrived at your stop, I knew you were going to be special. Your high pitched voice and shrieks of laughter cut through the roar of Friday rush hour traffic like a hot knife through butter. Nearby dogs rolled on the ground in pain, eardrums imploded from the frequency of your giggles. Once on the car, you apparently saw no need to moderate either your cell phone conversation, or the volume at which it was being carried out.
Thank you, hell harpy, for allowing me to learn how 'that guy who totally likes you' has a big nose, but that it's ok, because you're sure that means he has a big cock, too. I feel warm and fuzzy just having been privy to that kind of intimate revelation, as I'm sure did the other 50 or so people sitting around you, including the mothers desperately sticking their hands over the ears of their small children. Hey, fuck em, right? Kids need to learn some day that size does matter, so why not today, and why not from you?
Don't think that the other passengers weren't also entertained by you as well! I especially enjoyed the part where the woman sitting directly behind you mimed putting her hands around your throat and throttling you lifeless. She sure was good at it! I wonder if she's a mime? The man sitting next to me was also fun, especially when he began quietly chanting 'shut the fuck up, you loud mouthed cell phone using bitch' under his breath. He and I shared a bonding moment where we both rolled our eyes and shrugged, acknowledging how we were mutually rendered powerless by your high pitched yammering.
Hell harpy, I do have one suggestion. Hand talking? While on a cell phone? Not so much. See, the person on the other phone can't actually see you while you're doing it, so it's really rather pointless, especially when you get so vehement that you knock the baseball cap of the poor boy unfortunate enough to be stuck sitting next to you. I hope his hearing wasn't permanently damaged by his close proximity to your air raid siren-esque voice.
To be completely sincere, though, I really do need to thank you for letting me see that all of this yoga is finally paying off. It took every syllable of serenity inducing chanting that I've learned to resist the urge to walk over, tear the phone out of your hands, and chuck it out the window. Serenity now, bitch. Serenity now.
Thanks again, and please - shut the fuck up.
Morgan
Dear deeply and frighteningly over protective mom at Chapters in Ancaster:
The world is indeed a scary place. Pedophiles and kidnappers and child molesters skulk on every corner, waiting to pounce on your sweet and innocent offspring. In a time such as this, who could possibly blame you for worrying about public washrooms? Who knows what sorts of scary freaks lurk there, waiting to offer your children candy and a very special kind of lap ride? I can see why you'd want to be careful, and why you'd decide to haul your brood into the women's washroom with you.
But, really - 12 years old? And 10? Isn't that a little old to still be going potty with mommy? Honestly? I know they looked uncomfortable, and I know I felt it. The woman coming in behind me looked a little bit taken aback, as well. I mean, are you raising them using some kind of Woody Allen autobiography as a guide? Do you want to ensure they end up in therapy? I know that my first thought was 'gee, I sure wouldn't want to be the woman dating them in ten years time...'.
So please, for the love of all things oedipal, kindly keep your almost-teenage boys out the women's washrooms. Oh, and shut the fuck up.
Morgan
Dear shrieky hell harpy on the Friday afternoon High Park street car:
As soon as our streetcar arrived at your stop, I knew you were going to be special. Your high pitched voice and shrieks of laughter cut through the roar of Friday rush hour traffic like a hot knife through butter. Nearby dogs rolled on the ground in pain, eardrums imploded from the frequency of your giggles. Once on the car, you apparently saw no need to moderate either your cell phone conversation, or the volume at which it was being carried out.
Thank you, hell harpy, for allowing me to learn how 'that guy who totally likes you' has a big nose, but that it's ok, because you're sure that means he has a big cock, too. I feel warm and fuzzy just having been privy to that kind of intimate revelation, as I'm sure did the other 50 or so people sitting around you, including the mothers desperately sticking their hands over the ears of their small children. Hey, fuck em, right? Kids need to learn some day that size does matter, so why not today, and why not from you?
Don't think that the other passengers weren't also entertained by you as well! I especially enjoyed the part where the woman sitting directly behind you mimed putting her hands around your throat and throttling you lifeless. She sure was good at it! I wonder if she's a mime? The man sitting next to me was also fun, especially when he began quietly chanting 'shut the fuck up, you loud mouthed cell phone using bitch' under his breath. He and I shared a bonding moment where we both rolled our eyes and shrugged, acknowledging how we were mutually rendered powerless by your high pitched yammering.
Hell harpy, I do have one suggestion. Hand talking? While on a cell phone? Not so much. See, the person on the other phone can't actually see you while you're doing it, so it's really rather pointless, especially when you get so vehement that you knock the baseball cap of the poor boy unfortunate enough to be stuck sitting next to you. I hope his hearing wasn't permanently damaged by his close proximity to your air raid siren-esque voice.
To be completely sincere, though, I really do need to thank you for letting me see that all of this yoga is finally paying off. It took every syllable of serenity inducing chanting that I've learned to resist the urge to walk over, tear the phone out of your hands, and chuck it out the window. Serenity now, bitch. Serenity now.
Thanks again, and please - shut the fuck up.
Morgan
Dear deeply and frighteningly over protective mom at Chapters in Ancaster:
The world is indeed a scary place. Pedophiles and kidnappers and child molesters skulk on every corner, waiting to pounce on your sweet and innocent offspring. In a time such as this, who could possibly blame you for worrying about public washrooms? Who knows what sorts of scary freaks lurk there, waiting to offer your children candy and a very special kind of lap ride? I can see why you'd want to be careful, and why you'd decide to haul your brood into the women's washroom with you.
But, really - 12 years old? And 10? Isn't that a little old to still be going potty with mommy? Honestly? I know they looked uncomfortable, and I know I felt it. The woman coming in behind me looked a little bit taken aback, as well. I mean, are you raising them using some kind of Woody Allen autobiography as a guide? Do you want to ensure they end up in therapy? I know that my first thought was 'gee, I sure wouldn't want to be the woman dating them in ten years time...'.
So please, for the love of all things oedipal, kindly keep your almost-teenage boys out the women's washrooms. Oh, and shut the fuck up.
Morgan
