the blasts, the fallout, the sickness and the diar[y]hoea

I think you’ll find…

On the way into work this morning I saw a pair of kids hanging around the station just passing the time by scrawling grafitti on the seat. Oh the hedonistic days of youth. How did I grow up never realising the joy to be had standing on a cold station platform writing crap on furniture? I feel like I missed out on something.

What’s more is they were spelling it incorrectly. Apparently Claire is a “lezbean.” Now, I dont know Claire so I’m in no position to judge but I’m reasonably sure she, and no-one else, is a “lezbean.”

They both found it highly amusing of course, cackling like Beavis and Butthead as they scribbled away. I felt compelled to point out their error, I mean if you’re going to deface public property and insult someone then at least do it well. What good is the freedom of speech if people don’t know how to speak?

They were offended, I like to think they were embarrassed by their own ineptitude. The one that did the writing sneered at me, “Fuck Off. You aint my fuckin’ teacher ya know.”

“Would you recognise your teacher? I presume it’s a while since you last saw him.” I replied. That was it, barring the occassional mutter and snigger in my direction.

I saw a lot more grafitti during the rest of my journey. Cock spelled “cok”. Sexy spelled “sexi”. Massive tits spelled “massif” (an interesting one I think since it does seem to make a kind of sense though I doubt the artist knew it). Tracey was described as a “derty hore”. It left me feeling slightly discouraged.

But seeing it all did lead me to wonder why the chosen means of expression for these illiterates is writing.

Ironic isn’t it?


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