It's that time of year again folks, when you act extra kind to people you secretly want to strangle, show courtesy to plenty of distracted whackjobs who don't deserve it and wish people all sorts of seasonal greetings that mean pretty much nothing. They tip the mailman, their chiropractor, the paperboy, sometimes even the garbageman, so they don't tell the whole neighborhood about how maybe three times a year they see empty containers of extra-small condoms and about three times a month they find their discarded phone bill covered in exotic phone sex calls. But do we get a second look, a hey, thanks for this past year's service, thanks for compensating for our slacking and screwing off, thanks for getting that package in on time because I got too drunk on my two-hour lunch break to remember to do anything on time every Friday. Nothing. What I did get was hassled by a Municipal Safety Cop, because I was hauling around everything but the kitchen sink on Christmas Eve morning and happened to stop at the end of Long Wharf where he could corner me. I got a lecture about helmets amd licenses and numbers, and I got a suggested threat as to what would happen if I was caught again without these things outside the Christmas season. Is that what Christmas is about? Setting up a scenario for you to be a good samaritan even though you went out of your way to be a pain in the balls? Well guess what? Two can gift in that way. You're welcome Boston, for me not telling you all how inept you are behind the wheels of your car; last minute turns without signaling, sexting your significant other with one hand down your pants and nothing guiding the wheel, crowding the whole world at the curb because nothing is as important as you getting to work twenty mintues late rather than twenty-five. Your welcome Boston, for not being replaced by an entire workforce of efficient employees, who are able to do the job you pretend is impossible without seven imperitive hours of Facebook fellatio. Your welcome Boston, for trying to kill bicycles with your ten pound rolling hammer, because you think of them as mosquitoes, deserving to be splattered across the pavement. Most of all, you're welcome Boston, for not being exposed to the endless shame of not trusting your own citizens to choose how much they want to drink and when, after eleven, Sundays, holidays, etc. Proof positive you're all irresponsible screw-ups, except for us however, we have the foresight to forgive ourselves, or punish ourselves, with more drinking. Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year.
posted by Eli at
6:32 PM
1 Comments:
somebody call the wah-mbulanche. haas says next time, show 'em your junk.
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