Cursed out, flipped off and spat on ....

Woman #1 oughta suck a dick. It would make her feel better.

 

Hahahaha. Starman made a funny. Hee hee.

 

TBF, welcome back.

About 8 or 10 years ago, we were at a childs birthday party at a Pizza Hut. Shaggy, dirty, smelly, guy with his shirt unbuttoned except for one button near the top comes in and sits down at a table across from the party. Moms and dads go on the alert but he really isn't doing anything except mumbling to himself and the kids aren't bothered by him. Then he gets out a book of matches, leans back so his shirt falls open and begins lighting matches and setting his chest hair on fire! I still remember the smell. So the dads jump up and hustle him out the door and he starts walking through the strip mall, stopping at each store, walking in and throwing matches. So a bunch of us just get ahold of him and hang onto him until the police come and there the story ends. But I will never forget the sight of smoldering chest hair.

 

Years ago (1984 to be exact) I'm in my first job out of college. Moved to NYC for a job with the AP. Live in an apartment in Flushing near Shea Stadium and take the 7 train to work. On this particular Sunday, I'm heading into the city when a guy probably my age but clearly not all there gets on the train. He's clearly strung out on something. Sits across from me. He looks at me, and I don't look away. Seconds later he starts making all kinds of gestures at me like thumbs down and making noises. I get up and move to a different car. Problem is, I move back on the train and when it gets to a place where I have to change cars, if he gets off there, too, I'll have to walk past him. Well, sure enough he gets off there, too. But I get through the crowd and past him and go downstairs to the underground train platforms. Fortunately, I see a couple of subway cops standing down there, so I go and stand near them. Then the guy comes down and starts telling the cops to "Arrest that man. He looked at me!" The cops kind of laugh at him and he goes to a platform. I tell them what happened on the train and they tell me not to worry about him, that he's just a dope addict. I go to my platform (a different one to get on a different train) and go on my merry way. But like TBF's three minutes were a long threee minutes, my 15 minutes were a really long 15 minutes.

 

All of them were.

 

She wasn't offended that I said "ass." She didn't hear it. She heard me say "truck," and thought it was the f-word.

 

Fuck.

 

How dare you use a word that rhymes with fuck!

 

Then why not just say "Fuck no I didn't."

You're right. I had read your post, then left, then came back and posted. I'm retarded.

 

I was eating lunch in a restaurant earlier this year when a woman, probably in her 50s, walks by me, then stops. I see this out of the corner of my eye and think, "Please keep walking." But no, she takes a couple steps back and I hear, "Excuse me, sir."
I look up from whatever I was reading, smile and say, "Yes?"
Woman: "I noticed your shirt, it says, 'Everybody hits."
I'm wearing a t-shirt from the high school baseball team I coached with the slogan Everybody Hits printed on the back.
Me: "Yes," thinking maybe this is the mom or grandmother of one of the kids I coached. But no.
Her: "Well, I just wanted to let you know (and she has kind of a German accent) that God doesn't, and Jesus doesn't."
Me: "OK," and then I sit there in a bit of stunned confusion before snapping back. "It's a baseball shirt, lady, relax."
Her: "Oh, I'm so sorry."
Apparently I look like someone who would walk around with a shirt announcing that I like to hit people.

 

Not everybody hits.

But Everybody Hurts.

 

Sometimes.