1. Thursday, December 12, 2002

    on the los angeles subway there is one transfer spot. 

    it’s at the intersection of wilshire and vermont. by the way, i love each of you and i hope youre having a pleasant day.

    if you are taking a train south and you want to go west you get off at wilshire and go down the stairs and within a few minutes, if the timing is as it should be, the train going west will arrive.

    sometimes the train gets there just as youre hitting the bottom stair. thats like a sweet little kiss on the cheek from the one you love.

    because there is only this one transfer spot in the entire los angeles subway system (there are a few others but they dont count) if the train downstairs is a little fast and the conductor can see a whole group of people running down the stairs, he will wait, as that is not only polite, but professional and reasonable, because after two stops the westbound train takes a 10 minute break and turns around and goes east.

    so waiting 1 minute for the commuters to catch their last train at 8:40am isnt much of a big deal.

    unless, of course, you are the wastoid who decided to watch us decend the staircase waving our arms and pull away as we hit the platform.

    hi train driver.

    im gonna get you.

    im gonna go to heaven and the angel on duty is going to give me a tour of the place and once we’ve completed the gauntlet of blowjobs from playmates around the galaxy, and after we sled down the chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream mountain and after we soak in the hot tub of love and make out with every nfl cheerleader one at a time in their former bodies and after we’re given our superbodies and golden afros and assigned our flying skateboards and ac/dc bottle openers i know, i know someone is going to whisper in my ear, “who do you want us to fuck up, royally.”

    and i will pick you, subway man.

    and trust me when i tell you that i had some extra time this morning to think of what i would like to do to you. and i have a pretty good relationship with my imagination, if you havent noticed.

    so as youre being given papercuts forced to watch your mother get it from the entire cook county correctional community with baking soda falling from the sky like snow, know that thats just the appitizer of this miniseries of miseries that i will oversee happening to your person.

    because then your daughter will appear.

    and she will walk up to you.

    and she will bend down on all fours.

    and the lights will dim and the spotlights will hit and then twirl around in a frenzy and the smoke machine and the confetti and the midgets and the midget clowns and the big band and the stuido audience will all be revealed from behind the curtain, and two high fashion models will make their way to a mystery curtain.

    they will look at the camera and make hand gestures and the curtain will part and out will come a nice big hairy buffalo.

    and from that curtain to your daughter will be a very narrow walkway.

    and tied to the papercut chair will be you.

    and while you watch your daughter get mounted doggystyle, thanks to the help of the beautiful fashion models who lead the willing buffalo with ease, she will look up at you with equal parts pleasure and horrfying pain.

    the buffalo, reknowned for being infected with an unusually large amount of hiv, has recently aquired mad cow disease, and snorts phlem with each thrust which drips and hangs and finally lands on stringly tendrils atop your daughter’s bowtied ponytail.

    then comes the rhino.

    so your daughter flips over, spreads her legs, and throws her head back so you can see her eyes, covered in spit snot and buffalo drool. nipples pointed at the sky, audience cheering, baking soda falling, paper cuts slicing, rats gnawing, paranah tank lowering, trapeze girls swinging, you might let out a scream of mercy.

    mercy?

    your job, the thing that you get paid to do, metro operator, the thing that buys your little girl those barrettes, and those skirts, and those little socks, and her book bag, and powers the lights that wrap your christmas tree, is to pick up people in the subway and drop them off at their stop.

    simplest job in america and you get paid at least $60k and work just 4 days a week.

    and your daughter will help the rhino in. theres no lube in hell. and she will say

    wow this one is hairier than the last one.

    and a light will shine from behind the curtain and you will see every animal from noahs ark

    two by two

    patiently waiting their turn.

    full of hate