I cringed when you got on my bus on Hawthorne, because you're the worst thing in Portland after getting rape-blown by a crackhead. White leather cowboy boots, skinny black jeans and a wife beater, douchey bead necklace, and a wispy mustache only a high school freshman could be proud of. You and your over-pierced, wannabe Lidya Deetz girlfriend sat down and you immediately went into a giant, clearly bullshit story about how you and a friend were ripped off in a $5000 drug deal, where you got maced but still managed to fight the thief while going up a hill and then kicked his ass while still blinded by mace, using "fuckin" every other word. You came off like an overcompensating child bragging about how he totally knows karate, but your low rent Elvira was hanging on every word, right up until you turned around in your seat and spilled almost all of your sticky Odwalla all over the aisle because you were too much of a giddy dumbass to put the lid back on. If you had spent less time making shit up and gauging your sagging earlobes and more time developing motor skills as a child, you wouldn't come off as a jackass who needs to be fitted for a sippy cup. If you somehow manage to get into an actual fight, I hope you get maced for real real, so that your eyes can hurt as much as my brain listening to you posture.
The views expressed in these submissions are from anonymous, unverified sources and do not necessarily represent those of the Portland Mercury.