Stick an Apple in Her Mouth and Send Her to Chinatown

She strode confidently into the blue line train at rush hour. A mountain of a woman clad in blue and green plaid capri pants and a blue “top” that I can define neither as tee-shirt nor polo. Suffice it to say the garment served as a torso covering for this behemoth. Mounds of sow flesh strained at the margins of her attire. Around her neck was strung a shoe string type carrying device from which hung her building access card. It looked more cowbell than it did proof of employment. She possessed a pale hue and dry, stringy hair the color of genetically modified carrots. Most important of all, more important than the peace and tranquility of all aboard the train, more important than her own health, more important than the clearly-stated rules of riding the train, was her pink polka-dotted cell phone. She was not content to merely talk on this cell phone. No, she must shout into it. She must summon what little oxygen can escape her pork-compressed lungs and yell over the sound of metal train racing through concrete tunnel, constantly repeating the mantra “THEN YOU HAVE LOTS OF CHOICES TO MAKE”. Yes, yes you do. And judging by the fact you choose to speak to this mountain of menace at 08:15 central time, Other End, it must follow you will make the wrong choices. In bold defiance of decency, passenger rights, unwritten social pacts with her fellow man, and her high, tinny voice, she yelled into the phone. Scorn, seething anger, passionate hate, all of these she engendered in her fellow passengers. Though strangers but minutes ago now all of us, save Large Marge, were united in common cause; the hatred of her. Like passengers on an iceberg damaged ship flailing helplessly in a vengeful sea, our brotherhood was forged in the spite we felt at Pighilda thumbing her snout at common courtesy to ruin one of the thoughtful moments of our day. White, black, Hispanic, non-white Pacific Islander, young, old and Jewish alike tore into her ample flesh with the eyeball fury of a thousand suns. Our hearts were near to bursting in overwhelming desire for the doors to open at the next stop and a grizzly bear to race into the gap and tear her limb from limb and she clutched hopelessly to the polka dot cell phone and screamed “YOU HAVE LOTS OF CHOICES TO MAKE!”. Hers was the flesh of pigs. Not the healthy glowing pink of fattened sow awaiting the abattoir but the graying pallor of recently slaughtered swine. It was the color of decay because in fact her skin was dying. The only humane, no the only just, course of action would be to stuff an apple in her teeth and send her to Chinatown. Saturday’s dim sum would she be for all.

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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