To all the Gutter, Crust, and Splatterpunks (or whatever you are.) Thanks for accosting my friends and I on our way to get tipsy at the local watering hole. It was hi-hi-larious when you surround us and tried to force us to pay you five dollars to kick you in the testis. When we refused to do so your whole crusty lot freaked out and incited brouhaha. I’m sorry that I wanted to spend my hard earned money at the bar and not on going Pelé on your meat and veg. Then when we didn’t rise to your bait and chose to ignore you and continue on our merry way, you chose to insult our clothing. Our clothing! Well, that, old boy, I cannot abide! I’m so, so sorry that we can’t all dress in habiliments of torn black Carhartts, studded jean jacket cut-offs that reek of BO, and jackboots caked in dog shit. I have a job that affords me things like booze and clothing that is still relatively intact, whereas you are all pieces of human garbage polluting our streets with your nonsense. Maybe the next time I see one of you I’ll take a “free kick” at your baby maker, but most likely I’ll continue on my merry way, passive-aggressively hating your guts anonymously.
The views expressed in these submissions are from anonymous, unverified sources and do not necessarily represent those of the Portland Mercury.