Monday, January 12, 2009

Dear "Dude" on the Brown Line,

I didn't take your picture on the el, because, well... you weren't talking on your cell phone loudly, or talking to someone else on the train loudly, or masturbating, or crying, or muttering, or anything else that would actually warrant a picture.

But what you were doing was something that I, and perhaps I alone caught, and I was mortified on your behalf. Much like a trainwreck, I couldn't look away. You were going through the photos on your iphone. And wow, Buddy... those were some pictures!

Let's just talk about the ones where you were shirtless. Now I'm not sure if it's still called this, but that particular pattern of thick, swarthy chest hair used to be referred to as a "Treasure Trail" and dude, it hasn't been appropriate since the 70's. Oh!!! Strike that... I just talked to Mama Grace, and she told me that as far back as she can remember it's NEVER been acceptable, but she's going to call Grandma Grace just to be sure.

OK. Chest hair pattern aside, there are a lot more issues. Since there's no way I can cover all of your shirtless photo atrocities, let's just focus on the ones that I am certain will give me nightmares.

1. Kissing your bicep. I just don't understand. You kissed your own arm. In a photo. That someone else took. So, in front of at least one other person, you, with a straight face, allowed someone to photograph you kissing your own muscle.

2. Pinching your own nipple. Again, allowing someone to photograph you pinching your own nipple. And it should be noted that these weren't...boudoir photos. These weren't drunken, jokey frat boy photos, either of which I would be more fine with. Unfortunately, these were Hot Chicks With Douchebags photos, without the hot chicks.

3. Fake playing the guitar. Shirtless. Now, I can't be sure you were fake playing. But, if you were really playing, you certainly weren't playing to anyone, except the person who was photographing you. And you held that guitar, like... like... I would hold a hockey stick...or a golf club...or a placenta.

Dude. Please never do this again. And pretty, pretty please? Don't do it on the train at rush hour.




Thinking Fool said...

He sounds like a peach!
At long last, I have "stolen lines."
And I added you too!
What a tremendously productive day. ;-)

Fannie said...