South Bend, IN-After years of flirting with the prospect, namely through a steady helping of eye stingers and false alarms which required boxers to be checked, one area man finally achieved something that most people only dream about.
“So I’m sitting there…the bathroom is a full flight of steps down…I’m having a great time staring into oblivion…and I say fuck it…enough foreplay! Today is the day I finally just dump my pants,” said Phil Biggins, through a string of violent coughing fits which only added to the unpleasantness of the stench invading the train car full of dismayed passengers.
The log resting limply between the ankle elastic on his pilled sweatpants represented to many, the next evolution in mankind. A shift in thinking that involves simply giving up. The ideology that a shit stained pair of sweatpants shouldn’t be just one man’s burden, but rather the burden of anyone within 200 feet of ground zero.
A long, dull sigh that accompanies walking slowly to the waste bin and sleepily throwing away another pair of ruined socks. The routine almost second nature.
“I had come so close, so many times…now this chapter is closed, and I can’t wait to see what the future holds for me,” concluded a teary eyed Biggins, after a productive sneeze into the face of a newborn child.
Chicago, IL-The sniveling, cherub faced fucking muppet wandering aimlessly around the train like a new born lamb, wrapped in his luxury Canada Goose parka, is undoubtedly on his way home to cry himself to sleep. His beady eyes and quivering lips, barely visible through the luxurious fur lining the oversized hood, reek of the type of despondency pacified only by the purchase of a luxury item.
Absolutely every feature and accessory is curated to appear spineless, a thousand lifetimes void of hardship or adversity. He’s not suited for the cold, or anything for that matter.
He rides the train with an air of contentment, periodically glancing up from his tablet sized phone to ensure that his leather messenger bag is positioned in a way that makes him look like a world traveler but also someone who burns the midnight oil at a well-known agency. He adjusts the laces on his chukka boots and perfectly tailored selvedge denim jeans.
Featureless and completely forgettable, docile, compliant, his possessions function as a personality of sorts. Perceived intrigue in an otherwise wholly uninteresting existence, he waits patiently for the moment he can return to his apartment, bury his doughy face in his pillow and weep until exhaustion sets in and he falls asleep.
Chicago, IL-On Tuesday, a man was seen standing obediently in the exit aisle of a CTA car like a stupid fucking hound waiting for an owner that would never return home. Outgoing passengers wrestled with the heaving mound of flesh before being birthed to freedom and glancing back in anger at the person gazing lifelessly into their iPhone, but the inconvenience of other passengers was of no concern to this very good boy who waited patiently by the door…stop after stop.
“Nothing will make you feel more alive than the stale air of a train platform hitting your face as the doors open, nor the feel of someone struggling against you to get off the train before the doors close, and most importantly, the happiness of your owner as you greet him at the door after a long day,” said Terry Naquin, visibly a human but somehow inheriting the intelligence and demeanor of a goddamn inbred dog.
With nothing better to do in life than perpetually riding a train, waiting to deliver a pair of slippers and a newspaper to a fictitious owner, this loyal old mutt will ruin train rides daily until he’s finally shipped off to “live happily ever after on a farm” somewhere.
Chicago, IL-On Tuesday, an area man eased his way onto a crowded escalator like a dying old man into the last bath he’d ever take, though unlike lying motionless and in solitude in a pool of your own filth, the escalator during rush hour can sometimes beckon mild physical activity and vague awareness of surroundings.
“When I get on that escalator, it’s ME time. I require total stillness for personal reflection in the form of listening to the Chainsmokers and consuming fucking content. If you’ve got a problem with that you can take it up with my oversized JanSport,” said Terry McDonough, inching his way down the escalator as hordes of angry commuters miss yet another departing train.
The spiritual war McDonough wages transcends merely him, an escalator, and the furious mob behind him. By not allowing people to pass by McDonough serves as a beacon of indifference and a prophet of immobility. A revolutionary that is brave enough to admit that being stationary and refreshing uninteresting social media feeds is more important than being courteous.
Chicago, IL-A guy riding the CTA on Monday morning was spotted proudly wearing his big boy backpack. Originally thought to be an enormous goiter, because of his inability or refusal to place the object on the ground where it belonged, turned out to be a Jansport backpack filled to the brim with an outdated Encyclopedia Britannica edition.
“My mom wakes me up, wipes the dribble from my chin, then uses the same tissue to wipe my butt first thing in the morning, then she fireman carries me down the stairs and feeds me coco puffs, then she packs my backpack up nice and tight and lets me ride the train all day long!” said Colin Cummings, an object of hatred for everyone riding the train.
Cummings, a 35 year old strip club DJ intern of 10 years, says that wearing his enormous backpack on the train has given him the confidence he needs to DJ matinee sets at Industrial Strip in Hammond Indiana every other Tuesday. “When I wear my backpack I’m the center of attention, just like at the strip club! I see the ladies staring!” continued Cummings swaying obliviously.
Cummings existence remains an inconvenience for humanity as a whole, who can only find solace knowing that he’ll likely die alone and have a sparsely attended funeral.
Brown Line to Kimball, Chicago-A Chicago man warmed hearts on Monday after offering a polite smile and nod to an elderly woman, who could barely stand, on a Kimball bound Brown Line train. The act of kindness happened during rush hour and was described by many as endearing and a much needed return to the golden days of chivalry. “You don’t see it a lot in this day and age. It was really sweet…he looked up with these big brown eyes and just smiled at her and nodded…and then promptly returned to reading Chive articles,” said one passenger. “It was insane he knew exactly what she needed, I’ve never seen anything like it!” said another fighting back tears.
The train rumbled forward in traditional erratic fashion, causing the woman to lose her footing several times, everyone looked on helplessly at the disheartening moment, some even had the courtesy to tweet about it. But no one had the courage to do what he did.
A gift to public transit or maybe humanity as a whole. A moment that no one on that train will soon forget. When asked about the occurrence, the humble hero maintained that he was just in the right place at the right time. He even alluded that if it were to happen again there’s a decent chance he’d do it all over again. Noting that the split second of looking up rendered him unable to finish the top 10 butts of the week article he was reading.
Elderly women need nothing more than a smug grin from a stranger in a fedora, on a stinking public transit car to cure what ails them.
It’s confirmed: 0 fucks given by the middle-aged man wearing a Señor Frog’s shirt on Chicago Transit. There was initial speculation that he may be commuting to work at the Margaritaville at Navy Pier, but that theory was quickly dispelled given the age-old blood rivalry between the two vastly different interpretations of beach themed entertainment.
The retirement home vibe of Margaritaville and the “butt bong a beer to win a cotton candy goat” mantra of Señor Frog’s has fueled turf wars that have brought cities like Orlando to its knees, forcing people craving themed fun to seek refuge in Universal Studios.
The man drew initial attention from other passengers because he was wearing a Señor Frog’s shirt outside of Myrtle Beach. “Something didn’t seem right about him, he seemed too chill,” said one affected passenger “He appeared to be sipping coffee from a neon, yard long novelty glass.” Other commuters were perturbed because they ended up soaked in Coconut Parrot Bay after the man errantly sprayed at their closed mouths with a super soaker.
Given that only Señor Frogs would tolerate using a super soaker to distribute shots and wearing a pitted out shirt that says “Drink till she’s pretty,” it was assumed the slightly overweight, leather skinned man was not headed to a place of employment, but rather was on a leisurely pursuit for a bar & grill oasis on a Wednesday morning.
Though yet again nothing can be assumed about anyone wearing a Señor Frog’s, an enduring and unforgettable notion. When asked where he was going, he responded fervently “To work at Sluggers, the baseball themed bar near Wrigley field. It has effin’ batting cages, so don’t try and tell me that’s not chill. $2 censored on the beaches and half off shotskis, it’s 5 o’clock somewhere baby!” Apparently Sluggers is evolving into a beach/baseball theme, and wearing a shirt with a drunk cartoon frog is encouraged.
He sank back into his seat, sipped his coffee and road the train like it was his own personal lazy river. We should all be wearing Señor Frogs shirts.