I like watching people. I like wandering through endless waves of human onslaught, watching, observing, inspecting, ogling, plotting, planning, &etc. I like to imagine what they do for fun, what kind of family life they have, what sort of things interest them, what their faces would look like while their guts spill out of their eviscerated stomachs, feebly and uselessly trying to push them back in while I casually wipe off my straight razor with a paper hand towel in a deserted public washroom.

You know – normal stuff.

There are some that I do not enjoy watching, however. At times while I am navigating the throng of co-humans I find myself inexplicably struck with terror which results in what may seem to some like a terrible stroke – my mouth constricts into a painful grimace, my eyes open wide as Blaine’s exit wound, my limbs and bowels suddenly and involuntarily clenching into a paralytic state. I would think this a normal reaction when seeing a 450 pound woman approaching, wearing spandex and a tight sweatshirt – well tight for such a specimen due to the constraints of an extra, extra, extra, extra large garment – stomach clearly (and often visibly past the aforementioned sweatshirt) hanging to the knee area, innumerable chins, all jiggling in a nauseatingly beautiful motion as she moves stubbornly and against the laws of physics forward in a motion I can only describe as someone attempting to navigate movement in Antarctic terrain while wearing snow shoes for the first time. Apparently though, I am incorrect, as my horror filled reaction is met by a scowl and a healthy dose of anger. I assume most people don’t react in this way because they are smarter than I am, being as we skinnies are outnumbered and trapped helplessly under the net of political correctness and the apparent ability for these people to defend themselves between bites.

These people deserve our respect, our love, our pity, I am told. It isn’t their fault. They are allergic to exercise and self-esteem. We spend a large (forgive the pun) sum of money to keep these food machines from dying, and we encourage their eating habits with promises of rich, delicious, sodium and saturated fat foods which are affordable and available on every street corner. So that is probably the issue. Although most people eat that shit here and there and manage to not expand like a bloated corpse. Here’s a word for you to learn, fatties!

In my recent past, I sat casually in a seat on the steel torpedo that transports us humans to and fro deep underground, like worms through an intestinal tract in the underbelly of the city, head buried in a book and listening to my best of Tom Jones album, when I was at suddenly and without warning accosted by a very unwelcome guest. The act didn’t appear malicious; the young lady who sat next to/on me seemed unaware that her buttocks takes up more than one seat. Perhaps she also didn’t feel my femur snap into uncountable pieces, as she seemed confused – bewildered even – when I rose from my seat and hobbled over to sit across from her. In an empty row of seats. All of which she could have utilized. Literally. I think I was almost eaten that day.

Also, this guy can wink with his chest!

– SEACREST OUT

Posted by Krank, filed under Awesomeness. Date: November 23, 2011, 10:47 pm | No Comments »

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