Peanut Butter Bitching Time

Yes, peanut butter bitching with a baseball bat. Okay, I’m done amusing myself with that. Now to amuse you with tales of the snowed in streetcar.

I was taking the 501 home from school just 30 minutes prior to this posting and I suppose it was the first one in quite awhile. Since I board at church, however, it never really affects me.

The people here (women) in the Roncesvalles community, if over a certain age, are a sorry bunch of whiners. They love to complain about everything. Starting at the North side Queen stop, there were just droves of them ambling up the stairs, muttering and sighing stale breath all over the place. I’m used to it by now and since we were all packed in closer than sardines, I didn’t bother to try to escape my seat early.

Cue silver haired bint: It amaaazes me. All these young people and they CAN’T give YOU a SEAT!

Silver Haired Bint!
Age: mid-fifties, no older
Fighting weight: I’d say 175, but as she was swathed in a black circus tent and feathers we could probably say plus ten or minus ten.
Health: Fit as a fat fiddle. No visible physical ailments or boils. Not even that many wrinkles.
Hobbies: Chewing gum like a cow on its last cud wad and using too much rouge.

Do you know what amazes me, silver haired bint? That masticating with your three hour old lipstick encrusted face-flap so obnoxiously loud, then speaking in your “everyone pay attention to me” voice and spraying us all with your self-assured saliva means all us young people are in the fucking clear when it comes to public transit protocol.

Stick that in your gob and suck it.


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