Passive Aggressive Letters to the Passengers on the New
York-bound megabus, departing Washington DC Wednesday, January 22nd,
11:59 pm:
Dear man just behind
me and to the left,
No one understands love gone wrong like I do. I’m really
sorry about Shanna. She sounds
like a dick. You said it yourself; she disrespected your grandmother. You know
what I think you should do? Forget that ageist assclown, and get off of the
fucking phone.
No one on this bus is going to appreciate your
self-righteous indignation, so why waste your poetic sermon on deaf, silently
enraged ears? No, good sir. You
keep quiet until the morning. Then, at the crack of dawn, go to the top of the
Rockefeller Building and dispense this diatribe on the unsuspecting tourists who
pay fourteen dollars to climb to the top of a building in the middle of winter.
Like the rooster of our generation, you’ll wake them all to
the sunrise of this new day, this brave new world where love has lost for once
and for always. You’ll crow a song
of anger, a song of love, a song of Shanna; that cold, shrill voice on the
phone who keeps hanging up on you.
That’ll teach her. That’ll teach them all.
Dear man just next to
him,
Weezy does rule. And I am very curious to know whether
rapping his songs aloud is some kind of elaborate protest against the man just
behind me and to the left, an open audition for any booking agents or club
owners who might be taking this bus, or just an ardent display of fandom.
However, after seeing Weezy live in 2009, I came to the realization that his
stuff is way better when heard through a sweet set of speakers. It just doesn’t
translate as well to live performance, y’know?
Keeping that in mind, please, shut the fuck up before I
strangle you with your Skullcandy earbuds.
Dear man just in
front of me,
At first, I thought you were watching American Horror Story: Coven, but then Woody Harrelson showed up,
and I don’t think he’s on that show.
In fact, I think this is a movie. And now the plot thickens--Christopher Walken and Colin
Farrell are onscreen. Kind sir, what
the fuck is this cinematic revelation? Why is everyone in it? Is that Kevin
Bacon? And did you seriously bring
popcorn and beer on the megabus?
Man in front of me, I think I love you.
Dear very well groomed
man just to my right,
Your Louis Vuitton bag is a decade out of season, but in a
really great way. I especially love
how it appears to be actual Louis Vuitton. Like, Louis himself made that initials-speckled purse on your
lap, and you are wearing the hell out of it. Since you’re on
a megabus, you appear to be a bargain-minded, gentleman, so I feel compelled to
divulge a little secret…
Did you know that
Sonoma for Target does a really great Vuitton knock-off these days?
Never mind, you're way too classy for that shit.
To the group of five nineteen
year old boys who just boarded in Baltimore, smelling strongly of weed,
Good on
you. But, no—you cannot sit next
to me.
Might I suggest that you go sit with the guy just behind me
and to the left, now loudly weeping over Shanna energetically enough that I am
convinced he is the Edgar Allan Poe of our generation, and Shanna is his
Lenore. Sounds like he could use a
bowl or two.
Dear Shanna (who is
still on the phone with the man just behind me and to my left),
I cannot believe he is forgiving you for this shit. It’s
unacceptable, and you know it. You can’t treat a person that way. Especially
when he needs to express his forgiveness at such a decibel.
This whole bus hates you so fucking much. Change your name.
Change your address. Cover up that tattoo of a peace sign on your upper hip. I’m
fucking coming for you.
