Today at about 5:15 some dude, whose birth I'm sure was the result of a defective prophylactic in the restroom of a White Castle 45 years ago, was crossing Franklin Avenue at Nicollet. Evidently his dangling participle, if you catch my drift, or his dick if you don't catch my drift, is so small and flaccid that he needs to do stupid shit to deter himself from the fact that he becomes green in envy when he sees a AAA battery. And the fact that he's so ugly, and I quote Sylvester Stone in the 1984 epic film Rhinestone, that "he's got to hang a porkchop around his neck to get his dog to play with him."

Our friend Mr. Teenyweenie does things to compensate like crossing the street in front of a car who clearly had a green light, making the car slow down & honk, and then giving said car the finger as he kept walking to his bus stop.

To that guy: Thank you for feeling my stare while I was at the red light and looking over. For that 5 seconds we kept eye contact, I said to myself "If there is a God, in the next split second he would give that man the most incredible and drawn out bout of cramping diarrhea a person could ever barely live through."

Are You There God? It's Me, Micycle.  

Well as it turns out, he got onto the bus just fine and the bus pulled away. Dickhead rides again, out to do nothing for society other than lower its collective IQ. So this "God" dude has yet to prove to me that he exists. Next chance I'll give him is to prevent Celine Dion from putting out another album. All I can do is patiently wait here twiddling my thumbs and hope for the best.