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B!tch on the Street

Days and nights in New York City are tough enough without having to deal with all the sh!t this city dishes up. B!tch on the Street tells the tale of two ladies making their way through this crazy town...one freak at a time.

Thursday, August 31, 2006

Oh No She Didn't...

Pookie and I were at a fabulous pre-sale at a lovely handbag store in Midtown yesterday. We looked all over and found some nice bags, but one in particular caught my eye. I pulled Pookie past the throngs of desperate sale-seekers to show her. Pointing to the bag as we approached it, I said, "Look at it! Isn't that awesome!"

Right before our eyes, this whore grabbed the bag that I pointed at and said to her ugly, large-hatted friend, "This is nice!". Then she glanced at Pookie and me and smiled. Her friend said, "Oooooh. I saw that there's a matching smaller bag on the other side!"

"Oh no she didn't!", I exclaimed angrily. Pookie said, "Well, it's clear she has no taste of her own and had to take the one you like." Ho-bag ignored us and these two b!tches stood there admiring MY bag, so I naturally took their picture.

I said loudly, "That bag is too big anyway. Let's go look over there." Pook knew exactly what I had in mind and she went right over to the matching smaller bag. I picked it up and we made a show of saying how unique it was and all that jazz. Soon, the b!tch came over to where we were and said to her friend, "That IS the matching bag. Oh, I have to have it!" and then she looks at me all sweetly and inquiringly as I'm holding it. "Sorry," I quip in a sugary sweet tone. "This one's mine. I wanted the one you have, but you snatched it up right before my eyes." "OH! I didn't realize! *(yeah, right b!tch!)* Are you sure? I really would like the matching one," she blubbered. "I'd trade bags with you if you like," I offered. "Well that's stupid. I want both." she said very b!tchily. "Well then you're sh!t out of luck," Pookie said.

We left her and her friend gaping at us and wandered around. I didn't really want the bag, but I didn't want her to have it more. I didn't buy it (that sh!t was over $300! I'm not THAT crazy) because I really needed a larger bag. Instead, Pookie and I hid it in a very obscure section of the store where the doggie carriers are kept.

I hope that b!tch never finds it.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

What the Fvck is This?

Seriously. Tell me. What bridge is this?

I've been to this bridge. This is NOT London Bridge. It's in London, but it's the Tower Bridge.

Am I wrong? Or am I crazy (Gnarles style)?

Googling images of "London Bridge" doesn't help either. I think all those b!tches are wrong.

Tell me people of the world! What the fvck is this?


This post is because of Fergie and her London Bridge. For without that sh!tty song, I never would have questioned myself or spent the entire work morning debating this with my a$$hat coworkers.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Woah...

This morning I rode the train with a co-worker that I happen to like. We got seats together and chatted it up. A guy got on the train and sat down across from us. He was dressed in a weird outfit (acid washed jeans and a blue and orange lightening striped shirt), but, to each his own I say. I noticed that he had a work ID badge around his neck and it said that he is a New York State social worker, level 1 (I have no idea what that means).

My co-worker and I continue to talk and notice that this guy is kind of freaky. He's making sharp movements and has a paper with him that he keeps trying to keep open with his head! Again, whatever. You know how many freaks there are in this city?

Then, my co-worker whispers, "Um, look at his leg."

He had a HUGE wet spot on his leg and it seriously looked like he peed. Then we saw him take a napkin out of his pocket and start wiping the spot furiously.

"Gross," I said.

Then, as we neared our stop, the guy suddenly hits the newspaper and goes, "I got it mother fvckers! I got ONE!"

He proceeds to take a pen out of his breast pocket (on the lightening shirt) and fills in a crossword puzzle on the paper he was reading.

Then, he jumped up at the next stop (not ours yet) and ran off the train leaving his paper and the wet napkin.

My co-worker is the only one I work with that knows about BOTS (that I know of anyway). After he was gone and the doors closed, she leaned forward to look at the crossword, leaned back, and said, "Woah...get out your phone. This is for BOTS."

I did as she said, wondering what the hell he had written.

The picture is attached. Can you read it? Yeah, it says "sperm".

At least the clue was "microscopic swimmer" so I guess he was right.

And he's a social worker?

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

These Seats are Reserved...

Have you ever seen the signs on the subway that say, "Priority Seating." No? They're probably hidden behind the fat, sweaty fvck sitting in those seats.

Today it's fvcking hot in NYC. FVCKING HOT! OK? People smell, everyone's extra cranky, and the sizzle is on. The incident I'm about to describe has happened so many times, I couldn't even guess a number. But it happened again today. And I know we're hurting for BOTS fodder, so here you go.

I'm on the train. It's crowded, but I manage to squeak a seat beside some fat ba$tards. On the train comes a VERY pregnant woman. There are no seats. I look around. No one cares. If they feel any guilt, they cover it up by quickly glancing away and burying their noses in their papers, books or whatever.

I wait.

'Fvck.' I think to myself. 'Why do I always have to give up MY seat?'

A few more stops pass. The train is super crowded now and prego is getting squished.

Still I wait. No one says anything. 'Fvck, fvck, fvck, fvck...' I keep repeating in my head as I feel my blood begin to boil. Listen (or read, rather), I'm a modern gal, but I feel that this is a perfect opportunity for SOMEONE, ANYONE to show that chivalry isn't dead and get the fvck up. I think that someone should be a man, but those are few and far between here. There were plenty of young, healthy looking men in seats. Why didn't they get up?

With a sigh (you know it was loud enough for ALL to hear) I get up slowly and say, "Excuse me, miss." to the prego. "Would you like to take this seat since not one "man" (and yeah, I made the quote signs a la Britney's interview with Lauer) here is kind enough to move?"

No one even looked, but prego said, "Thank you." and looked so grateful that I had to admit that I should have gotten up a few stops earlier than I did.

As Peter Griffin would say, this really grinds my gears. Equal rights and all, but come on. Gentlemen are still appreciated. I probably would have blown any guy that stood up before me out of sheer wonder! OK, no I wouldn't have, but I would have respected him! No one gives a fvck here. It's sad, but true. To each his own and fvck you seems to be our motto.

Lots of curses in this post! It's the heat.

No it isn't. I have a foul mouth so fvck you!

I had a picture to post, but Blogger is a piece of sh!t.

Is it Friday yet???