Sunday, March 20, 2011

Rambling About Manners

Everybody farts..the question is when and where. I'm not saying that refined and well mannered people never fart, this would simply go against nature. My concern is in regards to choosing poorly in terms of the circumstances in which the flatulence is released. A well mannered individual would never release in a quiet, silent situation like a lecture on 17th Century French Porcelain. I mean, the old lady who had way too much cucumber bisque for lunch that day, should think twice about getting into this lecture, throwing out a dry Rrrrrroberto and risking the destruction of the museum's finest Château de Vincennes vase through the release of such vibration. Should her hunger for knowledge be such, that she simply must attend this specific lecture, she should have the decency of holding the Rrrrrroberto in and, instead, releasing the pressure in a series of soft and warm Sssssussies.... IF she can sustain the agonizing pain of holding Rrrrroberto in until it merrily comes out of the closet as a Sssssussie.
Now, as much as this would avoid an embarrassment to our cucumber eating grandma, it would not preclude the radioactive toxic cloud from contaminating half of the museum's Eastern wing and possibly causing incalculable pigmentation damage to some 8th Century Islamic Period Persian Tapestries. Still, grandma's honor would be safe, as well as her bank account, since the origin of the toxic cloud is almost impossible to determine with no noticeable noise, and the museum could not take legal action. Such is the beauty of a Sssssussie, it allows nature to take its course while keeping the originator's honor and social status intact.
The slurping is a different matter. Don't tell me that there is any fucking natural process that requires you to slurp. The slurper is a motherfucker. These people will slurp a soup, a café latte, even a fucking tequila shot. Yes, they would slowly and painfully slurp even from a small little shot glass. And don't tell me it has to do with the temperature of the liquid being slurped, I've heard these fuckers slurp an ice cold glass of water. What the fuck is wrong with this people.
I feel no fucking mercy for the slurper. I will tell them to shut the fucking orchestra right to their face. Some of these fuckers even have the balls to ask for some red wine, as if their palate had such noble requirements. If you are one of this miserable fuckers, don't even dream about slurping my Angelica Zapata 2002 Malbec. I will give you some vinegar instead for your refined enjoyment. The only taste of my Malbec you will get will be the cork, which I will stick so deeply up your rectum, that you will need quite a strong Rrrrroberto to shoot it out of there. That might get your slurping disorder down while you come over for a nice quiet dinner next time. Some balls.....Malbec.
Regarding sneezing, this is obviously a natural process again. An unavoidable burst of energy which releases some of the worst a person has to offer. I have no political or moral position against sneezing. Now, some people just don't see the value in covering a sneeze, in protecting the environment from such disagreeable projection of mucosa. These people deserve all my despise, even more than the slurper.
In the late 90's I used to live on Queensberry Street in Boston. I used to take the Green Line near Fenway Park to go to work. Taking the T next to me, at the same stop, there was always this disgusting poorly bred specimen, some kind of an office clerk. He would always dress with these cheap sorry brown suits, a shirt which buttons could barely keep it together under the pressure of his enormous abdomen. His face was round, his cheeks so immense that his skin looked shiny, disgustingly so. As we got on the T every morning, there was this sweet looking beautiful girl. She looked like a thinker, maybe a grad student or a researcher. She was refined, fit, well mannered, properly dressed with just enough sexiness to show that she could still be quite a lover under that intellectual portrayal.
Now, my buddy Quasimodo, would get on the T and look for her, he would station himself close to this angel. He could not hide the fact that he was crazy for her. She would just be nice enough to say good morning with a short smile, but not too much so as not to give Quasimodo the wrong impression. This went on for a long time, weeks.
One day, Quasimodo was wearing a yellow tie with red polka dots, I remember this to this day. The tie could not reach all the way below his belly, so it simply lay almost horizontally on his enormous breasts. He gets on the train, and there were no seats available. The three of us, the angel, Quasimodo and myself were standing really close to each other. Quasimodo was facing her and I was on the side looking at both their opposing profiles. It was quite a contrast, I should add. We were all quiet, obviously.
The next scene, I remember it in slow motion, and I saw every single frame of it. Quasimodo starts getting this urge, this spasms which come all the way down from his cavernous chest. His protruding wobbly lips opened and his round shiny cheeks start to stretch. The innocent sexy researcher was at that particular moment distracted by some passing scene on the window. She was oblivious to the imminent burst of energy. Quasimodo took three involuntary short breaths and without covering his gigantic respiratory cavities just burst his whole head forward with a sneeze. He sneezed an uncovered quantity of nasal fluid and saliva to fill up a five gallon bucket. And he did this on our sweet angel's face and chest. Her eyes, her lips, her hair, her white shirt, and the beautiful upper skin of her breasts were all covered in this nauseating fluid that was shot out of Quasimodo's inner humanity.
I must confess that I did laugh, I laughed uncontrollably until I saw the way they were looking at each other. Quasimodo simply wanted to die, there was no other possible outcome for him. Underneath Quasimodo's mucus I could get a glimpse at her eyes, I have never seen so much quiet hate in a person's eyes. She could have ended his misery right there and kill him. After I saw that Quasimodo was totally out of reaction, I offered her my pack of Kleenex, which, if not enough to clean up this insulting mess, at least it gave her a little bit of hope in humanity and brought her back to reality.
Needless to say, the sexy little grad student never said hello to Quasimodo again, even more, she didn't look at him. For Quasimodo it was best this way, he would just hide on the opposite end of the train car. He deserved this vacuum, this self imposed solitude. The open sneezer deserves no love, no respect. He deserves to wear a brown cheap suit and a yellow tie for the rest of his life, and never get a chance at sex again. Fuck Quasimodo.
The list of these sorry poorly mannered fuckers can go on for pages and pages. I will continue my research and dissertation on these specimens in future papers. I will not forget them fuckers who eat with their mouth fully open to proudly show their partially masticated food. There are also these motherfuckers who make all sorts of disagreeable noises as they eat. The small penis assholes who will always run to walk through a door before a woman, even their own wife or mother. The ladies who will wipe their noses with a Kleenex and then put it in their bra, between their breasts to keep it for future use. And last but not least, the public nose picker. Find some privacy, MOTHERFUCKER!!!

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