"Discreetly give the finger to people all day."
I know for a fact that old people are down with the Canadian turn signal, although they seem to manipulate it in different ways than Gen X&Y. Don't get me wrong, they can still fuck the bird very effectivley, but their loss of muscle tone and/or their flagging flexibility makes the universal high sign less convincing. I guess they feel that they need to compensate by flipping the stick and then punching it into the air with a couple of geriatric thrusts for good measure. Either that or they've already given the finger so many times in their lives that they must creatively expound on it: my beloved adopted grandmother, nicknamed Stinkie, lived into her 90s and until her last months she used to hold up 3 fingers to her caregivers, "Read between the lines," she'd cough and holler. This is the same old woman who would regularly remind us that she "liked two things hard. And one of them was ice cream."
Today I went for a run around McKinley park. Normally when I'm in the proverbial "zone," I space out and after emerging from my endorfin haze, I either spit some pathetic excuse for a loogie or correct my posture. (You see, when I worked at Jamba, we had these worthless exercise books that dictated the proper erect running stance. Yes perverts, erect.) Consequently, I'm sure all of you are completely unaware of what you look like jogging. Let me tell you straight up: you look like fairies. Sure, when you're at the gym there might be a mirror around in which you can babysit your mojo, but for the most part, ya'll jog with prancy baby steps and limp wrists. I'm in the process of training myself to not run like a girl for the following reasons: 1) it hurts my knees, C) it tires me out, and IV) no one takes me seriously.
This afternoon in particular I remembered my assignment and decided to discipline my hands into versions of the finger. First I tried it on one hand. Then the other. Finally I worked up to double daggers and kept my pepper spray handy should some one take it personally. For the most part, I think fellow joggers were preoccupied; either that or they were too busy staring at my ass as I lapped them. But it was nearing rush hour and I hope that a few cars (preferably not buses full of pre-schoolers or nuns) noticed my neutral 'up-yours.' I received no indication of acknowledgement. Perhaps they were too busy texting illegally or extinguishing power boners after just firing somebody at work.
There is still time to work in some finger-flickin' fun before the end of the day. I trust you to do the same. Although, since Thirsty Thursday is the new Friday, I expect you to reign it in at the bars.....D-bags are dying for any excuse to miss class tomorrow with a fist broken on your mandibula.
Arriba, Abajo, Al Centro, Al Dentro!
No comments:
Post a Comment