Ok. Here’s what happened.
No, I don’t want a drink of water thanks. I’m trying to just think back through the morning’s events.
Okay, right. I was pissed because I woke up and I saw the news about 45’s speech.
No, sorry. I don’t want to get into discussing him – that’s not the point. You must know how I feel. Check my blog. Shout Media; we’re global? Anyway, that’s not important. I was just very mad from the moment I got the update in bed, the fucking New York Times update that said his tone was presidential.
I’m sorry, but a presidential speech does not a non-sociopath make. So I leapt out of bed to write a think piece on Shout, post it, and get in the shower. There’s no hot water. And that’s probably because Ben, one of 5 corporate Neanderthals above me, took one of his legendary 45 minute showers.
ANYWAY, out of the shower and I have like 20 missed calls. It’s my boss at CNBC. Apparently I posted something inappropriate through their social media.
I check it out and I’m like FUKKKKKK. Because I accidentally shared my think-piece (about how 45 is a child-rapist) on the Twitter for CNBC Sports.
It’s actually a little funny when you think about it.
I delete it, grab my stuff, run down the hall and trip over one of Sam’s shoes he left out. Sorry, I’m seeing red because it’s a fucking boys’ club in my own house.
ANYWAY I’m out the door, frigid, rushed, running to save my job, and I run into a homeless man holding a steaming cup of coffee. I go from frigid to burning in 3 seconds AND my stupid corporate dress is all covered in brown. NEXT: I break a heel. Pull it off, limping on one shoe. Then there’s a massive line sludging its way up to the FUCKING D and it’s all these corporate suited fucks moving slow so I start to push past them and this guy is like, “slow down, beautiful.” I nearly shove my elbow up his asshole, you know really stretch it out, but I don’t, and after a terrible struggle with an elderly, loud woman I’m finally on the train.
And it’s like Siam in there. It’s a fucking concentration camp. It’s sweaty, it’s hot, I’m sweating, sweat’s dripping down my legs, everybody’s dick to ankles.
Sorry. I don’t mean to shout.
FINALLY someone gets off the train at like DeKalb and a seat is free and I just slither my way through the cracks in the crowd. I’m ABOUT to sit down when the train jolts and guess who gets the seat? A good ol’ boy with a beer gut, baby face, Dockers and…bright red hat.
Yeah. That hat.
Then he offers me the seat. “Ladies first”, he says.
“I thought all lives mattered,” I say.
He looks perplexed. I take the seat.
We go. Train jostles. This Indian guy’s elbows go all akimbo and clock me in the jaw. And then the train screeches to a stop. And red-hat fucker inches closer and closer to me. His stomach is jabbing right into my fucking face and I think: SHOULD BE A HATE CRIME TO WEAR THAT FUCKING HAT, PUT IT ON AND KNOCK OVER SOME FUCKING TOMBSTONES JEBEDIAH!!
And out loud I say, “Excuse me, Brother Jud, could you please get your cis gut out of my face?”
I say it politely.
Of course Big Man Dale or Chip or whatever-the-fuck says, “Free country, Missy.” All sweet like. And I think, that’s just the problem. THAT’S JUST THE PROBLEM. People believe their personal freedom is worth more than the well-being of millions, even in this fucking patriarchy. So finally I STAND UP, I TAKE A STAND, AND I TAKE HIS HAT, AND I OPEN ONE OF THE BIG HINGE WINDOWS ON THE SUBWAY AND I…
…toss it out.
It felt good.
The big fucker gets in close, sticks his fat finger in my face and begins to waggle it. Calls me a Libtard, a snowflake. A slut.
So I take him around the neck gently, and knee him in the balls.
He stumbles, knocks over loud old lady. Big, bald guy behind old lady stands up, punches Mr. Red Hat in the face. And I’m like GREAT. FUCKING DO THIS! The train jutters to life, Mr. Red Hat falls right into me, gripping my shirt and tearing it. Then he’s my bosses at NBC, he’s my fucking Republican cousin, he’s the fucking Nazi knocking over gravestones, YOU KNOW? And as the rest of the train begins to scream and brawl, flying over the Manhattan Bridge, I shove him down to the ground, I lift my killer stiletto. I fucking grin.
And I bring the point down in the middle of his fucking forehead. One. Two. Three. MASH MASH MASH I START TO MAKE FUCKING CORNED BEEF MASH OUT OF HIS FUCKING FACE.
Sorry. Yes. I did it a few times. I mean I guess the first one just felt so good and this look of shock on his face and I’m like THERE DALE YOU LIKE IT YOU LIKE TAKING IT IN YOUR FUCKING FACEHOLE YEAH YEAH YOU LIKE THAT BABY SMILE DALE FUCKING SMILLLLE!
YES I know he’s in intensive care. DON’T tell me that.
LOOK LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING AND I WILL STAND UP IF I WANT TO OFFICER FUCKING KRUPKE. LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING: EVERYONE! EVERYONE! on that fucking subway had the best day of their life. Everyone. I believe that with my heart and soul. And I don’t regret a thing BURN IN HELL ALT-RIGHT RACIST FUCKDICKS FUCKS!
Ah, I feel better. Can I wash my hands now?
Written by Sam Gibbs with artwork by Alex Vlahov and voiced by Matt Soson
Inspired by: https://nyti.ms/2lxTWOY