I'm not a blogger. I do not have drinks with bloggers, they are not my creed. Yet I am drawn to start a blog so I can complain about them.

Shall I put up some pictures of my cat. Yeah some relentless puddy pics of that furry bastard in a box or in the kitchen tearing the fuck out of my kitchen sponge. NO! yes I have them, but the world does not need to see ANYMORE. Don't get me started on Friendster either. I am more than this HTML but I will not bore the shit out of you about my subway ride this morning to prove it. Instead I am going to focus my seething anti-bore-blog thoughts at you.

NYC.
Ok you love it and hate it. That is the way it goes. From the F train that never comes to the "earlier incident" that makes you want to pull that smarmie announcer out of his fish bowl and slap him around a little. We all know that story. The metrocard machine that has this gleeful look on its monitor when it tells you it's not excepting notes or coins. Newsflash, that means you are broken. You silly silly machine, don't lull me into a false sense of confidence as I stride toward you in the morning. Flash, Blink, Beep. Don't just sit there quietly as if it's ok.
Then there is the "please swipe again" moments that have me trying a variety of speeds and arm swings to get my arse through the turnstiles. Or that annoying prick who refuses to stand aside as his scratched up, dirty , worn out shit metro-card won't let him through. While behind him a shuffling, sighing serpentine commuter line, sways and firebreathes down his sweaty neck.

i need to lie down.