Looking down on clouds.
Kid President Interviews Pendleton Ward, Creator of Adventure Time!
What time is it? KID PRESIDENT TIME!
Wow. Listening to this at the gym would be EPIC.
Vegan breakfast for dinner feast. Homemade tempeh bacon, tofu scramble, oven roasted potatoes, and toast. Mmm…. #whatveganseat #veganfoodshare
Fuck you, toilet seat covers.
I didn’t come into this stall to solve a fucking Rubik’s Self-Destructing Tissue Puzzle, but that is exactly what your three stupid fucking “tear me right here to release the center piece but just a little no that’s too hard oops I’m confetti” pieces provide me with every fucking time.
I actually think confetti would be more practical. There should just be a big fucking bucket of confetti next to the toilet that I can grab and throw straight into the toilet because I think that would be just as effective as sitting on the shredder ribbons I end up with once I’m done with your fucking MENSA Paper Challenge.
Am I supposed to bring scissors? Is there some fucking incantation or rap that releases your useless fucking center? Should I just go in my pants? I feel like that would be easier and preserve twice as much of my self-worth.
And why do you even have that center part? It just gives me a fourth and larger “Bonus Round!” because there is no fucking way I’m letting that thing hang into the toilet so the toilet water can climb it up to my ass. So I’ll just tear that off too and oops thirty-fifth time’s a charm, I guess.
Fuck it, I’m going to salvage as much of you as I can, and arrange you on the seat like a fucking homemade jigsaw puzzle made by Edward Scissorhands after drinking a twelve-pack of Four Loko™.
And that should take me just long enough to convince the fucking motion sensor that I’m sitting and not surgically restoring the Shroud of Turin on this toilet seat, so when I stand up, the toilet automatically flushes and pulls the whole fucking thing in so I have to start over.
I’ll just hold it until next time I’m in Chicago O’Hare where they have that fucking Hogwarts shit on their toilets that automatically re-covers the entire seat after every flush. That makes more sense and costs less than the therapy bills.
“You’re here to see someone you love.”
The woman with the red hat was looking at him now.
“You’re here to see someone you love”, she repeated.
His smile broadened. “What makes you say that?”
“Because you’ve been sitting here alone with your suit and backpack smiling at the floor for half an hour. You’re not here on business, because you have a backpack, and not a briefcase or something fancier. And you’re wearing all black with no tie. And you don’t look like a man who would run a nightclub. So I’d say you’re here for pleasure and not business. Then there is that smile. Then there is that box you’re holding. It’s too beautiful to be holding something boring, or even something for someone boring. So who is she?”
“Who said it’s a woman?”
“True, true. I’m sorry. I should know better than to make assumptions in this city. Who is he or she?”
The subway slowed. The conductor’s voice came over the speaker. “Powell Street.”
He smiled at her sitting there in her jacket that looked like it was made for Everest expeditions, while wearing that hat he had seen women wear in groups with their purple dresses. Maybe she was a low-ranking member of that order who hadn’t earned the purple dress yet.
“Someone very close to me”, he replied.
“I can tell. It’s all in that smile, and how you carry yourself. It’s all over you.”
The subway stopped, the doors opened, and he stood.
“I knew I was right”, she beamed. “Well bless you and whoever it is, and I’ll go back to minding my own business.”
“I’m sorry, I wish I could say you were right.” He was still smiling as he stepped through the doors. He turned around to face her as she sat waiting to leave. “I’m not here to love someone. Not this time.”
His smile weakened a little.
“I’m here to kill someone.”
The doors closed, and he saw her shock through the warped glass as the train left.
(photo by wallyg)