Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Week 6: I Can't Quite Think Yet...4 Simple Rules For Riding My Fucking Train...A Friendly Formal Farewell to the Former First Dog



JN: I've been tugging like mad at these little hairs, but they're just not where they should be for optimal finger-twirling. I spend the better part of my week thinking, and that is increasingly difficult to accomplish without a proper beard for assistance. I'm starting to realize now more than ever how much I took Reginald for granted. It's encouraging how well he's growing in, but my god it's maddening! To be so close to the chin whisker, fuzztastic goodness of yesteryear and yet so fucking far. Jesus, take the wheel! Reginald, give me strength.

From the desk of Jeff Newman:

So, there's been a lot of pissing and moaning the last couple weeks about the CTA hiking their prices up. Listening to this has got me thinking about exactly how many hours over my last two years in Chicago have been spent with my air-conditioner ass parked snugly in a plastic blue seat on the EL. Many Chicagoans who've lived here much longer than I have use this train system as a means for transportation every single day, and yet I am consistently surprised at just how many of these folks have absolutely no idea how to ride the god-damn train. Now, it'd be tempting, easy, and partially correct to blame this on dick-weeds from Evanston and Skokie who only come into the city to shop at Macy's or hit a Cub's game, drunken bros from BroTown, and dumbass college kids. However, the responsibility must ultimately fall to the rest of us marginally aware, marginally conscientious commuters to lead by example and follow some basic rules that are obvious to anybody with eyes, ears, and a 3rd grade- aw hell, let's call it a 1st grade education. If you don't live in Chicago, feel free to take notes. On your next visit to the Windy City, you can impress your fellow travelers with your comprehensive knowledge of CTA etiquette. 

Rules For Not Being a DICK on the CTA

1. When the doors open, people get off. THEN you get on.

*There's a reason this is #1 because it's the most elementary thing imaginable and yet the most commonly mis-performed maneuver. Think of the train as an elevator that moves sideways. If you don't wait for people to get off first, you can't very well cram your stupid ass in, now can you? Also, standing right in the middle of the doorway and waiting for people to exit isn't good enough. I'm afraid you'll need to ALSO move out of the god-damn way so they can too.


2. If all the seats are full, and lots of people are trying to enter behind you, WALK FURTHER INTO THE TRAIN.

*Haha. Enter behind you. Anyway, you can actually keep walking into the train thus creating space behind you for more people to get on. Standing still three steps inside the train car pisses off everyone stuck behind you, makes many of them late, and increases your chances of being bumped into, yelled at, shoved, or even bitten by a zombie. Hey, it happens.


3. Keep your belongings off the seat next to you so OTHERS can sit down.

*This is actually a direct quote that is played repeatedly throughout every ride on the EL you will ever take. Pretty simple. If someone is stuck standing up, and your backpack is occupying the only available seat- you are a dick. I actually saw a guy get punched in the face last year at 6:30 in the morning because he refused to move his bag so an old lady could have the seat. To answer the questions I know are in your head: yes, it was a dumbass college kid. And no, it wasn't the old lady who punched him. That would have been really cool. The point is: what could possibly possess a total stranger to punch you in the face before 7am? Being a selfish dick on the train, apparently.


4. Turn your god-damn music down.

*Again, you would think it's a basic, elementary concept not to blare your music so loudly on the train that everyone else on the train is forced to listen to it as well. And YET! Headphones are very cheap and very available. The douche-bags of which I speak have no excuse whatsoever. People who do this bank on the basic fear most people have of confrontation. When they jam their beats or beat their jams or whatever the hell they do loud as fuck on their stupid fucking phones, sitting there acting like it's the most natural thing in the world, they're essentially daring you to confront them. This is what douche-bags do, and it's tolerated by countless well-meaning commuters every day. Tolerance isn't always a good thing.


If you can follow these 4 simple rules when on the EL, you will have succeeded in avoiding being labeled a dick-weed, douche-bag, ass-clown, dick-cheese, douche-cock, or of course the classic fen-sucked dewberry by those of us who have eyes, ears, and a 1st grade education. This is not at all meant to be a condemnation of the CTA. Far from it. I treasure my train time. Hell, that's probably why I get so aggravated by the douchenheimers of which I speak. I've read most of the books I've read since moving here on the EL. I've written most of this blog on the EL. I've had amazing conversations, eaten terrific meals, and gotten free beers passed to me by brand new friends all while traveling to and from work. That being said, for twenty-eight bucks a week- the bullshit is getting is pretty old. -JN

From the desk of Reginald Buford Brimley:

The nation is in mourning this week, or at least some of it is. Flags everywhere will be at half-mast, or at least should be until such time as the people can raise their heads high once again with pride and confidence in the face of danger and adversity. The loss suffered will not be forgotten anytime soon, nor should it be. For the former commander in chief, Super Bowl Sunday brought with it a bittersweet sadness falling a mere forty-eight hours after the loss of his prized presidential pooch. Barney Bush, Scottish Terrier and former First Dog of the United States (2000-2008) died tragically on Friday after a lengthy battle with lymphoma, a kind of blood cancer which I understand continues to plague canines as well as humanity to this day. Former President George W. Bush posted on his Facebook wall Friday,

"...after twelve and a half years of life, his body could not fight off the illness. Barney and I enjoyed the outdoors. He loved to accompany me when I fished for bass at the ranch. He was a fierce armadillo hunter....Barney greeted Queens, Heads of State, and Prime Ministers. He was always polite and never jumped in their laps. Barney was by my side during our eight years in the White House. He never discussed politics and was always a faithful friend."

It should be noted that the official record reflects that Barney performed his duties as First Dog with unflappable aplomb. He caused not a scrap of controversy during his time in the White House. Nor was he ever indicted, questioned, or implicated in the near countless criminal offenses committed by the administration of his master. The sheer decency of this creature is as plain as the prominent moustache he wore proudly upon his snout. Beard culture has always held great respect for the animals often kept in captivity by their human oppressors. Particularly those owned by Heads of State. Though restrained through various forms of bondage, they continue to display the simple stoic dignity befitting any superior creature forced into such a subservient position, and Barney was no exception. Like many before him, and many more to come, he served as a great mustachioed symbol of the grace and elegance held by all those with fantastic facial hair.

It is important to remember that First Dogs have been a regular presence throughout American history. From President Washington's Staghounds, Sweet Lips, Scentwell, and Vulcan to President Obama's Portuguese Water Dog, Bo. However, the history of this nation shows far more variety in its First Pets than simply canines. Andrew Jackson owned fighting cocks, William Henry Harrison, a cow. Martin Van Buren briefly owned two tiger cubs, while Abraham Lincoln enjoyed the companionship of a turkey named Jack. Benjamin Harrison owned a pair of opossums, but Herbert Hoover takes the blue ribbon for excess with two crocodiles. In recent years, the First Pet position has been reserved mostly for dogs and cats, thus putting increasing pressure on them to stand alone as the shining example for all other presidential pets around the world. This pressure only makes Barney's performance during the W administration that much more impressive. Barney was never at the center of a pathetic grammatical blunder, thoughtless irresponsible abuse of power, or clear and flagrant fabrication which in turn spelled disaster for this or any other nation. He may be the only member of the W administration who can make this claim.
And so it is with a very heavy heart that we bid adieu to the former First Dog. His paw prints will not be easy to fill, but as Bo Obama begins his second term in the White House we cannot help but look forward to the future. Bo Obama will not be the next Barney Bush, nor should he be. Barney's time has passed, and with no concern or possibility of a third term for Bo, we can be assured of a very interesting four years indeed. And though I suppose I should restrain myself during such a time of mourning, I cannot help but ask: wouldn't Bo look better with a Beard? -RBB


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