the fucking title

The day actually started out fine, I was actually thinking about what to blog about this morning, something about the humanisation of brands (not joking) but towards the end (5.30p.m.), a pile of nonsense crops up and the day wasn't so fine anymore.

First came a PDF file that required editing during the last 30 minutes of the workday when I could have been told about it hours earlier. And then, the simple task of uploading a couple of JPEGs onto an FTP server which would have taken three minutes to do, if not for the fact that The Organisation employs NSF web servers as well. I am not paid $420 to unnecessarily stay back for an hour past my supposed going-home time.

After I've finished the nonsense, I saw my bus leaving just as I was walking towards it so I had to wait an entire interval for the next one. And only to almost lose my balance when the driver decided to jerk the bus forward before actually driving off. I did not wait 15 minutes for a bus to do the wobbly legs dance.

Of course, that dance routine got the attention of a few other passengers who, no doubt, would have laughed at me if not for the fact that I looked like I would have headbutted them without hesitation if they did. Then, the bus stopped behind a line of traffic, which in turn was stopped by a train. A motherfucking train, I can't make this shit up. Choo choo motherfucking train choo choo. And it wasn't even a full-length train with passenger, chicken crates and superhero-on-top-of-it carriages kind of deal, it was just the front carriage driving around on the tracks. I did not try my best to look composed in front of four strangers who saw me nearly stumbling over, just to get stopped by one train carriage on a joyride.

Got off at my stop and trudged up the overhead bridge and in front of me, a guy wearing a pair of evisu's, nike's and a t-shirt with a bald eagle on its back with very americana-ish flourishes and text which looked like an Ed Hardy's reject, which is saying a lot about its hideousness. The nike's were green and yellow and puke or something, I can't remember, and untied. Motherfucker couldn't care enough to tie his shoelaces but cared enough to buy a pair of evisu's that had a million pockets on it and on each of them, the gawdy-as-fuck solid-coloured stitching. I'm not kidding, this shit is real.



Motherfucker looked like a pukepile in Charlie's faggot Chocolate Factory.





That felt good, that felt therapeutic. Normal, non-Tourette-inspired posting to resume next post.