People, on the other hand, are the worst, and I shall continue to complain about them ad infinitum – and rain brings particular challenges. As Cajunboy so eloquently wrote in his blog, “The rain is to assholes the way that the night is to freaks.” Were truer words every spoken? I think not.
At any rate, what the fuck is with people sashaying about the City with their six-foot-diameter golf umbrellas? Especially downtown, where the streets are both narrow and teeming with people? The only thing accomplished through the use of umbrellas of such Brobdingnagian proportions is menacing the eyes, cheeks, ears, torsos and piercings of one’s fellow citizens as the offending umbrella wielder careers willy-nilly down the sidewalk.
And they always career willy-nilly – god for-fucking-bid they should walk in the always-elegant straight line… No, they stumble along, starting and stopping at random, veering from left to right, endangering all and sundry within poking distance… I’ve seen drunks reeling through the Tenderloin conduct themselves with more decorum.
Then, as I attempt to board MUNI (which, since it is raining, I can pretty much guarantee will be jam-packed, steaming and reeking of mothballs and ass), the golf-umbrella-toting-fucktards invariably grasp the umbrella in the middle, so that it is parallel to the ground, wildly swinging the thing to-and-fro, once again putting my face and/or nads at high risk of being punctured with the razor-tipped point of their elephantine brolly.
So I say to you, aficianados of les parapluies dangereuses, “See you in hell…” But in the meantime, would you please cut it out?