Sunday, November 20, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
I need to start carrying one of these to beat the feet of foot riders with
@JerkInTheCorner Scott Herkes
Guess who's back? Back again. Douche is back. Tell a friend
from mjxxxxxx@telus.blackberry.net
to cj@thiscrazytrain.com
date Thu, Nov 17, 2011 at 2:19 PM
re: (no subject)
I guess you just can't take people seriously when they tell you whenyou've fucked up can you? That was cute puuting up my email 2u on your silly little website. I was told by a friend of mine who works in law that even though you x out the email addresses you're still infrining on my privacy. As much as you thik all this is anonymous is not. I didn't authorize for you to put even a fraction of my email up or even put my email which if somsone had the time on their hands, they could eventually figure it out. Idon't plan to do anything further about this because I am sure one day you'll pis off the wrong person who will take you down. I'm a nice guy and i'm going to let this go but a few things before I leave. 1. there's no such thing as free speech. 2. you're ugly.
Peace out.
from cj@thiscrazytrain.com
to mjxxxxxx@telus.blackberry.net
date Thu, Nov 17, 2011 at 9:56 PM
re: (no subject)
I have my lawyer's permission to correspond with you. He just looked at me pointedly from his chair and then lifted a leg and starting cleaning his inner thigh. I don't know why I pay him. But he must be doing something right because I still have this website, all my assets and investments and my key to the front door still works!
You got time? I have the most hilarious story to tell you.
All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over 48 hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of colon cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell.
As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order for the wife. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience:
1. Occupied.
2. Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.
3. **** smeared on seat.
4. **** and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.
5. No toilet paper, no stall door, something growing near base of toilet.
Clearly, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped the trousers and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful ****ter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.
I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. ****ter was blathering to Mrs. ****ter about the ****ty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My *** let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.
Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.
Once my butt cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent:
(1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench.
It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.
"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??"
Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride.
Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up...in my mouth... not... make it... tell the kids...love them... oh God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.
Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of swear words and gags. My ****-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.
There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.
As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.
I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my shamefulness to my anonymous ****-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to **** in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in a bathroom. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.
to cj@thiscrazytrain.com
date Thu, Nov 17, 2011 at 2:19 PM
re: (no subject)
I guess you just can't take people seriously when they tell you whenyou've fucked up can you? That was cute puuting up my email 2u on your silly little website. I was told by a friend of mine who works in law that even though you x out the email addresses you're still infrining on my privacy. As much as you thik all this is anonymous is not. I didn't authorize for you to put even a fraction of my email up or even put my email which if somsone had the time on their hands, they could eventually figure it out. Idon't plan to do anything further about this because I am sure one day you'll pis off the wrong person who will take you down. I'm a nice guy and i'm going to let this go but a few things before I leave. 1. there's no such thing as free speech. 2. you're ugly.
Peace out.
from cj@thiscrazytrain.com
to mjxxxxxx@telus.blackberry.net
date Thu, Nov 17, 2011 at 9:56 PM
re: (no subject)
I have my lawyer's permission to correspond with you. He just looked at me pointedly from his chair and then lifted a leg and starting cleaning his inner thigh. I don't know why I pay him. But he must be doing something right because I still have this website, all my assets and investments and my key to the front door still works!
You got time? I have the most hilarious story to tell you.
All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over 48 hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of colon cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell.
As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order for the wife. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience:
1. Occupied.
2. Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.
3. **** smeared on seat.
4. **** and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.
5. No toilet paper, no stall door, something growing near base of toilet.
Clearly, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped the trousers and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful ****ter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.
I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. ****ter was blathering to Mrs. ****ter about the ****ty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My *** let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.
Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.
Once my butt cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent:
(1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench.
It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.
"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??"
Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride.
Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up...in my mouth... not... make it... tell the kids...love them... oh God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.
Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of swear words and gags. My ****-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.
There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.
As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.
I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my shamefulness to my anonymous ****-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to **** in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in a bathroom. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.
And the scum of the earth shall inherit hell
There's a special place right next to Satan for people who aggressively push past a seeing impaired man carefully making his way down a broken escalator to a subway platform. All that shoving so they can catch a train on a line that runs trains every minute.
You're not more important than this man who is also just trying to get to work. You can wait.
This is why I love that the TTC subway door attendant saw what these people did and prematurely closed the doors sooner than he should have, so they shut in these idiots' faces.
For. The. Win.
You're not more important than this man who is also just trying to get to work. You can wait.
This is why I love that the TTC subway door attendant saw what these people did and prematurely closed the doors sooner than he should have, so they shut in these idiots' faces.
For. The. Win.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
There's a reason why I'm not a GO bus operator
Can you imagine?
Two words: Coroner's Inquest.
I've been hanging onto this post for a while, just feeling out the audience here, because we've got a merry band of anonymous idiots who really don't know when it's time to pick their balls up off the floor and head back to the village.
As many of you know and some of you don't know, on occasion I will haul my ass onto a GO bus as part of my daily GO Transit journey. A few weeks ago, I took a late bus home from Oshawa station.
There's only about eight of us on the bus. The operator, a middle aged dude, somewhat pleasant, excellent situational awareness skills (I love to study people when they drive, you can learn a lot about their personality) who kept his two-way radio at a reasonable volume.
As the bus rolled along King Street through Oshawa's downtown, the silence among us passengers and the hum of the bus was broken by a loud shout of "Yo!" from the back. It startled the crap out of me and equally rattled the operator who slowed the bus significantly because like me, he suspected the shouter had missed a stop.
Nope.
The shouter had decided to phone a friend and not realizing that mobile phones aren't soup cans tied to a string, spoke at a volume one would hear a person use when shouting over the roar of a crowd at a baseball game.
This pissed off the bus operator.
This made me want to nutpunch the guy because I, and my seat mates, were now being subjected to his evening plans of "bluntin' bowls and watchin' ho's" and who the best "brah" would be to score "some shit" complete with repeating back an address of where said "shit" would be. (Queue eye roll).
Dude was L-O-U-D. And stupid.
This was disrespectful in many ways. First, one-way mobile conversations are distracting for the people being forced to listen. Two, the operator of a vehicle is also distracted because his brain, as much as he doesn't want it to, can't zone out the boisterous chatter of Mr. Marijuana Man.
Eventually, Marijuana Man proceeds to get off the bus. No longer on his cell, he makes his way to the front of the bus after pushing the call button. I could hardly contain myself. I was hoping the operator would say something to this jerk for scaring the crap out of everyone.
Nope.
Some of y'all just too polite. I know the public is the first to go after all y'all throats if you dare stand your ground with a-holes like this punk, so Imma pick up the ball for ya. Heard?
Politely, but in my best school teacher "Imma take you down" voice, I tell this young man that his loud, ridiculous grandstanding of a drug phone call was rude and disruptive. That he needs to be mindful of his surroundings and understand that many of us don't care what his plans are for the night, especially off-duty police officers heading home from work.
Not that there were any on the bus, but you never know.
I saw the operator catch my eye. "You go girl." He mouthed.
Oh... I can go.
Marijuana Man mumbled something that sounded like "Bitch, please" which I guess is how he says he's sorry, and scrambled off the bus. So I made this big production of pulling out my BlackBerry and gesturing and pointing and pretending like I was reading out street names, while staring right at him while the bus was stopped at the light and he was waiting to cross. The driver hadn't closed the door yet and the interior was illuminated, so I know he saw me.
Why?
Because Marijuana Man began to run.
Bad boy, bad boys, whatcha gonna do. Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?
The rest of us laughed our asses off. For. The. Win.
Two words: Coroner's Inquest.
I've been hanging onto this post for a while, just feeling out the audience here, because we've got a merry band of anonymous idiots who really don't know when it's time to pick their balls up off the floor and head back to the village.
As many of you know and some of you don't know, on occasion I will haul my ass onto a GO bus as part of my daily GO Transit journey. A few weeks ago, I took a late bus home from Oshawa station.
There's only about eight of us on the bus. The operator, a middle aged dude, somewhat pleasant, excellent situational awareness skills (I love to study people when they drive, you can learn a lot about their personality) who kept his two-way radio at a reasonable volume.
As the bus rolled along King Street through Oshawa's downtown, the silence among us passengers and the hum of the bus was broken by a loud shout of "Yo!" from the back. It startled the crap out of me and equally rattled the operator who slowed the bus significantly because like me, he suspected the shouter had missed a stop.
Nope.
The shouter had decided to phone a friend and not realizing that mobile phones aren't soup cans tied to a string, spoke at a volume one would hear a person use when shouting over the roar of a crowd at a baseball game.
This pissed off the bus operator.
This made me want to nutpunch the guy because I, and my seat mates, were now being subjected to his evening plans of "bluntin' bowls and watchin' ho's" and who the best "brah" would be to score "some shit" complete with repeating back an address of where said "shit" would be. (Queue eye roll).
Dude was L-O-U-D. And stupid.
This was disrespectful in many ways. First, one-way mobile conversations are distracting for the people being forced to listen. Two, the operator of a vehicle is also distracted because his brain, as much as he doesn't want it to, can't zone out the boisterous chatter of Mr. Marijuana Man.
Eventually, Marijuana Man proceeds to get off the bus. No longer on his cell, he makes his way to the front of the bus after pushing the call button. I could hardly contain myself. I was hoping the operator would say something to this jerk for scaring the crap out of everyone.
Nope.
Some of y'all just too polite. I know the public is the first to go after all y'all throats if you dare stand your ground with a-holes like this punk, so Imma pick up the ball for ya. Heard?
Politely, but in my best school teacher "Imma take you down" voice, I tell this young man that his loud, ridiculous grandstanding of a drug phone call was rude and disruptive. That he needs to be mindful of his surroundings and understand that many of us don't care what his plans are for the night, especially off-duty police officers heading home from work.
Not that there were any on the bus, but you never know.
I saw the operator catch my eye. "You go girl." He mouthed.
Oh... I can go.
Marijuana Man mumbled something that sounded like "Bitch, please" which I guess is how he says he's sorry, and scrambled off the bus. So I made this big production of pulling out my BlackBerry and gesturing and pointing and pretending like I was reading out street names, while staring right at him while the bus was stopped at the light and he was waiting to cross. The driver hadn't closed the door yet and the interior was illuminated, so I know he saw me.
Why?
Because Marijuana Man began to run.
Bad boy, bad boys, whatcha gonna do. Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?
The rest of us laughed our asses off. For. The. Win.
Go ahead, make yourself at home
So I'm rolling into Oshawa on the 5:10 UNST.
Never mind that this woman had no socks on with those flats (c-c-c-cold) but her left foot that she swung over into the aisle was swinging with so much force, she nearly took my glasses off.
Something pissed this girl off something righteous because it was almost like she was daring me and my seat mate to say something to her about her feet on the seat.
I was scurred. She was also throwing a mean-looking side eye, too.
Wonder what had her so angry? Maybe her feet were cold. That would explain a lot.
Yo' mamma
I don't read the shoutouts regularly but let me know if there's a hollah back to this one. Someone sure reads this site religiously.
A quick note about anonymous commenting
Blogger, or GOOGLE (to quote the raging, anti-legal assistant, Oshawa-hater) in its infinite wisdom does not offer the ability to turn off anonymous commenting but allow for 'Name' and 'Blogger or other ID' options. In other words, if I turn off anonymous commenting, I force you all to sign in.
I do have the option to integrate comments using Facebook accounts, but why? I hate blogs that do that. I want to comment with some protection of privacy. I'm sure you feel the same.
I also don't want to force people to sign in. I feel it's a deterrent. This isn't a newspaper. I don't need people to "own" their comments.
All I can suggest is that we don't feed the trolls. I know it's hard and I sit on my hands too, but if we leave them alone, they eventually get bored and surf away.
I do have the option to integrate comments using Facebook accounts, but why? I hate blogs that do that. I want to comment with some protection of privacy. I'm sure you feel the same.
I also don't want to force people to sign in. I feel it's a deterrent. This isn't a newspaper. I don't need people to "own" their comments.
All I can suggest is that we don't feed the trolls. I know it's hard and I sit on my hands too, but if we leave them alone, they eventually get bored and surf away.
It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas
Someone's rear window. Oshawa GO lot.
Judging by the blown-up and enlarged photo booth images, I suspect this is their first Christmas together as a couple.
How the non-confrontational get confrontational
They write notes, fast and furious.
But you gotta give the guy credit - this took nerve (and a lot of rage). Fight for your right to trackball, I guess.
Twitter tells the story:
ThisCrazyTrain CJ Smith
The note from annoyed BB trackball dude upset I poked fun at him on the #gotrain yfrog.com/nz7d3ynj
burnthewood Vanessa Charlebois
ThisCrazyTrain CJ Smith
"@burnthewood: @ThisCrazyTrain : Fight or flight? Fight! Fight! Fight!" I'm so taking this note. Awesome for the site. Love the drama!
ThisCrazyTrain CJ Smith
I am pretty sure this dude on the #gotrain has written me a note because he's folded it & is tapping it on his book. Wonder if I should run?
angelsil_to Angela Weller
ThisCrazyTrain CJ Smith
ThisCrazyTrain CJ Smith
"@angelsil_to: @ThisCrazyTrain pics! (of the bitten BB) or it didn't happen :)" I said real loud, 'is some1 winding a watch?' And he stopped
ThisCrazyTrain CJ Smith
Someone's BO on this#gotrain smells like baked lasagna & if this jerk doesnt turn off his BB trackball, Imma bite it off with my teef
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Eaton Centre lady is not happy with us working folk
This morning, I hopped on the 7:21 LSE, originating in Oshawa. By the way, that train can never leave on time. I've also noticed the CSAs can't get it's departure time right, either. Friday, it was the 7:23. Today, it was the 7:21. It doesn't really matter seeing as it doesn't really roll out of Oshawa until 7:25.
When we arrived in Pickering, the train was full - at least my coach was standing room only. This woman gets on with her husband and immediately begins to fret.
"Is there a seat number on that ticket?" she asks her husband, who looks as surprised as her that there are PEOPLE on the train.
He studies their day passes. "No", he says. They climb up the stairs. They come back down the stairs.
The woman looks distraught. "Are we to stand the whole way to Toronto?!" She exclaims while holding her hands out in a "WTF" gesture.
Her husband shakes his head in disgust. "Ridiculous," he says.
"And considering how much we paid!" She laments.
"And then there's the TTC cost to the Eaton Centre!" She says, clearly distressed.
Her husband pulls out a calculator. (Okay, he didn't really pull out a calculator but holy shit folks, if these people had driven from Pickering to the Eaton Centre, the fuel and parking charges would be more than the fares they paid, i.e. senior discount and senior discount, times two).
I get up and offer the woman my seat.
She takes it, which leaves me standing next to her husband. "Is it always like this?" He asks me, surveying the crowd.
"Well," I say, "We are on our way to work and it is rush hour."
"All these people work downtown," his wife muses, somewhat impressed that so many of us have jobs.
"Last time I took the train," says her husband, preparing to entertain me with tales of GO Trains past, "the coaches were never this full."
And the year that was?
1987.
When we arrived in Pickering, the train was full - at least my coach was standing room only. This woman gets on with her husband and immediately begins to fret.
"Is there a seat number on that ticket?" she asks her husband, who looks as surprised as her that there are PEOPLE on the train.
He studies their day passes. "No", he says. They climb up the stairs. They come back down the stairs.
The woman looks distraught. "Are we to stand the whole way to Toronto?!" She exclaims while holding her hands out in a "WTF" gesture.
Her husband shakes his head in disgust. "Ridiculous," he says.
"And considering how much we paid!" She laments.
"And then there's the TTC cost to the Eaton Centre!" She says, clearly distressed.
Her husband pulls out a calculator. (Okay, he didn't really pull out a calculator but holy shit folks, if these people had driven from Pickering to the Eaton Centre, the fuel and parking charges would be more than the fares they paid, i.e. senior discount and senior discount, times two).
I get up and offer the woman my seat.
She takes it, which leaves me standing next to her husband. "Is it always like this?" He asks me, surveying the crowd.
"Well," I say, "We are on our way to work and it is rush hour."
"All these people work downtown," his wife muses, somewhat impressed that so many of us have jobs.
"Last time I took the train," says her husband, preparing to entertain me with tales of GO Trains past, "the coaches were never this full."
And the year that was?
1987.
All your space are belong to us
Sean writes:
For consideration on my new favourite blog..... I saw these folks on the TTC train last night going northbound from Union to Finch. Lucky for them, they found that their subway car was equipped with a convenient luggage rack. Lord only knows what they would have done with their bags had someone asked them to move the bags out of the way so they could sit.
Get ready to laugh in 3... 2... 1...
from mjxxxxxx@telus.blackberry.net
to cj@thiscrazytrain.com
date Tue, Nov 15, 2011 at 5:59 PM
(no subject)
Dear CJ
Does that stand for Cunty Jerk? I'm sending you an email because you took it upon yourself to single out my wife in an article on your pathetic website.
Listen, you fucker, I totally believe in karma and one day you'll get yours and hopefully it involves someone pushing you in front of a GO train. You white trash pices of shit Oshawa people think you're above everyone else when I'm sure you grew up on welfare and then landed yourself a legal assistant job somewhere on Bay street so now you think you're hot shit and can cast jugdement on others. See I can judge you!!!!! I will be contacting GOOGLE through my lawyer and you can bet your ass your site will be shit down soon.
Mark.
from cj@thiscrazytrain.com
to mjxxxxxx@telus.blackberry.net
date Tue, Nov 15, 2011 at 7:40 PM
re (no subject)
Hi Mark
My lawyer, Howard Bigfird, has carefully crafted a reply to you. I present it to you unedited. You have to excuse him, he has no thumbs, or fingers for that matter.
to cj@thiscrazytrain.com
date Tue, Nov 15, 2011 at 5:59 PM
(no subject)
Dear CJ
Does that stand for Cunty Jerk? I'm sending you an email because you took it upon yourself to single out my wife in an article on your pathetic website.
Listen, you fucker, I totally believe in karma and one day you'll get yours and hopefully it involves someone pushing you in front of a GO train. You white trash pices of shit Oshawa people think you're above everyone else when I'm sure you grew up on welfare and then landed yourself a legal assistant job somewhere on Bay street so now you think you're hot shit and can cast jugdement on others. See I can judge you!!!!! I will be contacting GOOGLE through my lawyer and you can bet your ass your site will be shit down soon.
Mark.
from cj@thiscrazytrain.com
to mjxxxxxx@telus.blackberry.net
date Tue, Nov 15, 2011 at 7:40 PM
re (no subject)
Hi Mark
My lawyer, Howard Bigfird, has carefully crafted a reply to you. I present it to you unedited. You have to excuse him, he has no thumbs, or fingers for that matter.
ed54kj98mkdel;km kolr09903pofdk;wdl jwddjdfkeriu2376236sagdkjlfgk059t5409 asqw23iu3409dflk ldfk0er9340238230 edewoi opde23-05-0rg;l sdkmwdijdfl psalqwo230 dslkjdf4r jdfkjhd9wwe0kdfpod0rt56hltplkty0gf98945ok56p[hg-0-w0e34 lkdfokdfg909-034okdkfdfg lkgoiio34905dkljd;led poeroper90rj4tpo4 psrierpe0orgport05945-0 weoiuiw3249efwdsfld'f;[rt60=-0-540retpoirel;kdfgp[rty-56=-0rwepokwkldfs;'lertp[retoi432kljef;ldfg[]ertkeio43598-typorglker';54-0erp perklrtkl23j2hukasdwd;loer-09fghfgokl;sfk pwellk4rp[ okfeoeDon't ask me what the hell that says, but I'm pretty sure there's a few choice words in there. He's pretty straight to the point. Have a great night. And remember, flossing is the first step in preventing gingivitis.
]
dsf;fsd;l
sdf;dsf;
weew
Meanwhile, at the Dixie GO lot
Two donkeys in the handicapped spots. Neither car has a permit and the car on the left can't even park evenly in a spot that's twice the size of a regular spot!
Next!
Well what do we have here? I'm sorry, were you hoping to use the driveway to exit the parking lot? No dice.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Thirsty
I was so thirsty (not enough fluids today) and I got to stare at this guy's kegger of Booster Juice for the whole ride home. Actually, dude had a lot of stuff in his man bag. Two Tide pens. A pair of socks. A toothbrush.
I really need to buy a book.
Guess the home gym really worked out for you
Only in Oshawa, you say?
I was in a hurry to get to my car because I was all kinds of hungry and it was after 7:30pm. I don't look down when I walk. It's also dark in the Oshawa GO parking lot so I didn't see the free weights on the ground and I tripped over one. The fact there was a car parked near them also obstructed my view. Luckily I didn't go flying but I did hurt my ankle. I'm ok. Don't panic.
Upon closer inspection I thought this was some lazy attempt at holding down the manhole cover, but the manhole cover was secure.
Who in the hell throws free weights out of a car and leaves them in a parking lot? I'm telling you, people are ridiculous. And negligently stupid.
I picked all 3 up and was going to carry them into the station. But who in the hell would cart those to the Union Station to the lost and found? And who would claim them? So I put them back on the ground in a neat pile on the curb end of the parking row.
I really do make up names
If you text me and I want to save your number in my phone, I will come up with a name I feel describes you best. Doesn't matter if you eventually tell me your name, your legacy will live on in my address book.
Meanwhile at the GO lot in Brampton
from stxxxxxxx@sympatico.ca
to cj@thiscrazytrain.com
date November 14, 2011 8:19 PM
subject douche keyed my car
Some jerk keyed the fender of my car at the Brampton GO Lot today. When I showed up there was a big SUV on one side and a pickup truck on the other so I squeezed my car in between the 2 which means it was a tight fit and it also looked like I was closer to the yellow line of the driver's side. I guess the pickup driver left early because there was another car parked in its spot and that was also a tight fit because an SUV one over from there was too close to the line. I have no idea how the driver of the red car got out of the car because I could barely get my own door open wide enough and had to squeeze in. So what does this person in the red car do? I know they keyed my car. I didn't notice it until I pulled into my garage tonight. I can't believe people would stoop to this level. So immature! Don't you agree?
Stop! In the name of theft
It's one thing to take the sign, it's another to steal the pole, too. Oh, and bringing it home on the TTC? Awesome.
Nice foot ridin' by the photographer.
Door Donkeys. Not good for my GO rage
I know I'm not alone when I express how irritated I get with the obnoxious volume of laughing and cackling expressed by these gangs of fleas.
They're everywhere. On the 4:10, the 4:25, the 4:53, the 5:10 and the 5:20 LSE trains.
Is it just the LSEs? Are there door donkeys on the LSW? Georgetown? I totally get the desire to want to hang with train friends but I take offense to harsh, loud profane language. I'm not implying that I don't drop the f-bomb myself but there was one woman last night on the 4:53 who couldn't go an entire sentence without "shit" and "fucken" dropped here and there.
When the rest of the train is quiet, cussing sticks out and comes across as incredibly low-class. I don't mind the odd cuss word for emphasis or to express anger but in a casual conversation? Is this a bar? Are you 17 and trying to impress everyone? I also think this one woman really thought she was entertaining and that all of us being subjected to her stories of cleaning her toilet with VIM after she vomits from a night out drinking was okay. It wasn't.
It was vulgar and gross. Some people truly need to grow up.
View from the train
Toro, a TCT reader, just informed me he's posted a photo of the now infamous LSE weed-pool to GO Transit's official Facebook page for inclusion in their photo series entiitled "View from the Train".
I doubt it will stay there for very long unless the folks at MetroLinx have a sense of humor. It is legit. All of us can see this pool in the morning as we look north from any westbound train or eastbound train.
Still funny...
Monday, November 14, 2011
It's like finally getting to see Polkaroo!
I bring you, live in the flesh, a transit officer tagging illegally parked vehicles at the Langstaff GO Station in Richmond Hill.
For those who don't know who Polkaroo is, let me bring you up to speed. When I was a kid I used to watch a show on TVOntario called, The Polka Dot Door. It was songs and stories and a whole lot more.
Hosted by male and female hosts, there would be a point in the episode where the male host would disappear and the female host would be left alone. This is when Polkaroo would show up; a clown-like dinosaur built like a mushroom who only said one word, his name, over and over. The female host would chat him up and then he'd leave. The male host would return only to find out Polkaroo had showed up and would exclaim, "The Polkaroo ... was here ... and I missed him again?!"
You sure did, buddy.
See, I was smart. I was onto this Polkaroo character. It was the male host in disguise. No one could pull the wool over my eyes.
I guess "Transit Safety Investigation" sounds better than "We have to kick a drunk guy off the train"
From: 839846
To: 19054427423
November 14 2011 05:12 PM
TheUNST 16:50 - MILT 17:48 trn delyd 20 mins frmUNST due to a Transit Safety Investigation
No way, I'm like Eyewitness News, Imma bring you the real story.
From: 1416918XXXX
To: 19054427423
November 14 2011 05:17 PM
Only thing worse than the leaves causing a problem for you is a drunk making the Milton 450 LSQ train to be delayed 25 mins for me! I'm in the CSA car and he announced a delay to "investigate" something at one end of the train. Comes back and gets another call on his radio that says security is dealing with an intoxicated passenger.
From: 1416918XXXX
To: 19054427423
November 14 2011 05:19 PM
Seriously? Just pull him off the damn train already.
Why in the hell did they find it necessary to chit chat??
From: 19054427423
To: 1416918XXXX
November 14 2011 05:23 PM
I dunno maybe checking for mental health issues? Took some time to look up the closest AA chapter for the guy?
Reedonkeylous. Just toss him off. The end.
To: 19054427423
November 14 2011 05:12 PM
TheUNST 16:50 - MILT 17:48 trn delyd 20 mins frmUNST due to a Transit Safety Investigation
No way, I'm like Eyewitness News, Imma bring you the real story.
From: 1416918XXXX
To: 19054427423
November 14 2011 05:17 PM
Only thing worse than the leaves causing a problem for you is a drunk making the Milton 450 LSQ train to be delayed 25 mins for me! I'm in the CSA car and he announced a delay to "investigate" something at one end of the train. Comes back and gets another call on his radio that says security is dealing with an intoxicated passenger.
From: 1416918XXXX
To: 19054427423
November 14 2011 05:19 PM
Seriously? Just pull him off the damn train already.
Why in the hell did they find it necessary to chit chat??
From: 19054427423
To: 1416918XXXX
November 14 2011 05:23 PM
I dunno maybe checking for mental health issues? Took some time to look up the closest AA chapter for the guy?
Reedonkeylous. Just toss him off. The end.
West Side Leaf and his gang are at it again
Does no one at GO have access to weather reports?This heavy rain was in the forecast as far back as Friday.
Were you hoping to be home on time tonight?
Guess again ...
"GO E-News Alert"The tracks are to be sanded in advance of rain so that the wheels can roll easily over the leaves that stick to the rails like glue causing a vegetation malfunction. At least, this is what all of us were told last year when we learned that GO would no longer have to rely on CN/CP/VIA/CNR (pick one) to prep the tracks in order to prevent wheel slippage because they now own the rails.
Wheel Slip as a Result of Track Conditions
Due to wheel slip as a result of track conditions, passengers on the Lakeshore East line may experience delays of up to 25 minutes to their commute this evening. We apologize for the inconvenience.
Earlier
The Union 15:13 - Oshawa 16:14 train trip is delayed 15 minutes west of Danforth due to wheel slip as a result of track conditions.
So what happened? Who do I have to nutpunch? I say that with affection (no, I don't).
I couldn't find a picture of a menacing bunch of leaves so this is all I could come up with. I know. My artistic prowess amazes me too.
Here's all my coverage about this gang of leaves from years' past. I'm all about safety but I'm also about prevention and having a plan in place to deal with this issue.
I really wanted to be home at a decent time tonight. No, really. I did.
Don't tell me what happens!
Text message from 1416834XXXX
To: 19054427423
November 11 2011 05:52 PM
I'm reading the book Room on the 4:25 LSE and this woman pipes up and asks me how I'm liking the book so far. Then she asks me if I've gotten to the part where "blah blah blah and blah" (I won't spoil it for others). Why do people do that? End of rant.
To: 19054427423
November 11 2011 05:52 PM
I'm reading the book Room on the 4:25 LSE and this woman pipes up and asks me how I'm liking the book so far. Then she asks me if I've gotten to the part where "blah blah blah and blah" (I won't spoil it for others). Why do people do that? End of rant.
If you lick it than you should have put a wick in it ... W'oh, oh, oh, oh, o-o-o-o-o-Oh
Text message from 1416929XXXX
To: 19054427423
November 14 2011 06:57 AM
So I'm siting here on the lsw across from this guy whose dressed quite nice, armani jacket, good shoes and b/c I forgot my book in my car, I have no choice but to observe my fellow passengers and I happened to notice that Rico Suave here thinks his Bic pen is a cotton swab. He's been digging in his ear, pulls it out, inspects it, wipes the wax off with his fingers!!!! And then proceeds to keep digging. Thing is, he's not even trying to hide he's doing this. I've got dark glasses on so I don't think he sees me staring and I guess he has no shame b/c every1 around us is asleep.
Text message from 1416929XXXX
To: 19054427423
November 14 2011 07:04 AM
Ok he's finished cleaning his ears and then what does he do?!!!! He licks the end of the pen and slides it back into his breast jacket pocket. Gross!!!!!!!
The Hell?!
To: 19054427423
November 14 2011 06:57 AM
So I'm siting here on the lsw across from this guy whose dressed quite nice, armani jacket, good shoes and b/c I forgot my book in my car, I have no choice but to observe my fellow passengers and I happened to notice that Rico Suave here thinks his Bic pen is a cotton swab. He's been digging in his ear, pulls it out, inspects it, wipes the wax off with his fingers!!!! And then proceeds to keep digging. Thing is, he's not even trying to hide he's doing this. I've got dark glasses on so I don't think he sees me staring and I guess he has no shame b/c every1 around us is asleep.
Text message from 1416929XXXX
To: 19054427423
November 14 2011 07:04 AM
Ok he's finished cleaning his ears and then what does he do?!!!! He licks the end of the pen and slides it back into his breast jacket pocket. Gross!!!!!!!
The Hell?!
Sunday, November 13, 2011
I whip my hair back and forth
from dfXXXXXXX@rogers.com
to cj@thiscrazytrain.com
date Fri, Nov 11, 2011 at 7:40 AM
subject i whip my hair back and forth
hey girl. i've written to you about this woman before. the willow smith hair whipper. here she is in her usual spot with her full arsenal of makeup at the ready in her backpack and she spends the next 45 minutes putting her face on. doesn't matter if the train is crowded to the gills, girlfriend always manages to pull out the hairbrush and throw all her hair forward, brush it out and then whips her hair back and forth twice. like she's head-banging. no one ever tells her how annoying this shit is but i swear, one day someone is gonna lose their cool and they're so gonna break her hairbrush in half.
At least she's not doing this:
Off topic: Treehouse has odd programs at 2 in the morning
So how was your weekend? Mine was great. Up both Friday and Saturday nights with a kid with a hacking cough. Ever seen a show called The Night Garden? My daughter was riveted.
It's such a shame our friendship had to end
Dear Skin Man,
I know you would like it if I printed every single text exchange and I'm thinking about it ... I apologize in advance for the length of this dialogue.
I figure a Purple Rain reference is appropriate.
Also, if this text exchange was the plot for a John Hughes film (if he were still with us and making movies for this era), this is the song that would play while Ducky was staring at his iPhone, in the rain, while sitting crouched against the brick wall of a Starbucks after I rejected his Facebook friend request. I mean really, what did he expect?
Okay, I'll omit the headers in this text exchange based on requests that it's easier to follow the exchange without the phone numbers and date/time repeated. Your wish is my command.
I happened to be awake at 1:47 am when this text message came in because my daughter was up coughing up a lung. My replies are in green, bolded.
From: 1905436XXXX
To: 19054427423
November 13 2011 01:47 AM
I've just spent the last 4 hours or so reading your blog. How do you find the time?
I don't sleep.
Oh, you're there. Sorry.
Were you expecting I would have a text message answering service?
LOL no. Does such a thing even exist?
I suppose an auto responder feature would suffice.
Can't sleep?
No, kid is coughing up a lung.
Oh, hope he feels better. Don't you find it weird to just start typing with strangers?
No weirder than how you felt sending me a text.
I just figured it was the same as email.
It is. Texting is considered instant messaging.
Email is considered "Hey I have to write you a novel".
Ha ha ha. True.
So I read you're a big Prince fan.
Yep.
Me too. I can't afford to go see him as the ticket prices are outrageous.
Well I don't smoke or play bingo so I just took the money I would have spent if I did those things and bought a ticket.
Well I do smoke and it's expensive.
I've heard.
Did you ever smoke?
A little in college if out with friends at a bar and there were daiquiris involved but I would pay for it in spades for hours after because of my asthma. As it stands now, just smelling cigarette smoke makes me feel like I'm choking.
That's a good thing then.
That I have asthma or that I don't smoke?
That you have something that makes it difficult to take up the habit.
I also think it's a disgusting habit so that trumps the asthma. However, I'm an expert in addiction so I can see how need trumps the risks. Smoke 'em if you got 'em.
LOL. How are you an expert in addiction?
I've had my fair share of health damaging dependencies.
Don't tell me you were addicted to cocaine!
The hell? Um. no.
Oh, I wouldn't have been surprised if you told me you were. Most people who are funny have trouble with nose candy.
Uh ... ok ...
It's true. Look at Chris Farley.
Dude, how did we go from the price of Prince tickets to Chris Farley? Or that I'm possibly addicted to blow?
LOL, ok. What row did you get?
Section 118. Can't remember the seat number or row but it's close.
Is it good?
Right beside the stage according to the seat chart.
Sounds great! What's your #1 Prince song? Purple Rain?
Actually no. It's "Take me with you". I used to drum the shit out of that song, especially the beginning and towards the end, in my dad's garage. I just love the whole arrangement. The strings and tamborine.
I can't say I know that one.
And you call yourself a fan ...
Hey just because I can't remember a song doesn't mean I'm not a fan.
Yes it does.
I'll go YouTube it right now.
You go right on ahead.
I'm listening to the song now. It's ok.
What?! How can you disrespect the song with just a "it's ok"?
I like his stuff more from the 90s.
Blasphemy! His entire song catalogue is righteous. You can't single out one particular era.
Well I like Madonna but I can't stand the stuff she's put out in the past 10 years.
You can't compare Madonna to Prince.
So there isn't a single Prince song you don't like?
I hate My Name is Prince. I also can't handle When Doves Cry.
WDC is a classic.
It is, doesn't mean I have to like it.
What bothers you about When Doves Cry?
The conga drums. There's also this repetitive piano beat. It's just two keys being pressed in double time. Drive me crazy. It shows up around the time the lyrics start with "Maybe I'm ... ". I can't listen to it.
Wow, that's pretty specific.
I also hate Do Me Baby. Song is bloody awful.
I thought you said his whole song catalogue was awesome.
I said it was righteous.
But then you also say there are songs you don't like.
I merely do not like the arrangement. The lyrics are okay. WDC has great lyrics. I hate the arrangement.
Interesting. You know, I feel like I know you now, especially after reading your blog and having this conversation.
Uh, I can't say I feel the same ...
Don't be creeped out. I'm decent.
I know you are but I've known my parents all my life and everyday there's something new I learn, like how my dad can't stand toasted whole wheat bread.
I'm serious! I mean I feel like you and I could be friends.
That's sweet ... and it's probably true....
But ...
But ... it's a bit much too soon.
Ouch. Harsh.
I take it you're a guy.
Yeah, so.
Here's the thing, the blog is a persona. Sure, I interject legit and true things about me or my life but generally, I keep a lot of things private. It's not that I don't want to meet new people. I love meeting new people but there is no way in hell you can tell if you'd like me as a friend from the way a website is produced or written.
Ok. Can we at least Facebook each other?
Dude, what part of personal don't you get? I'm not comfortable with that.
I would die 4 u.
Gett off.
Everybody Loves Me
Crazy You.
Extraordinary
Hey, I can google a list of Prince songs too, you know. You can stop now.
I'm sorry I bothered you. I figured we could at least chat since I think you're hilarious but I will admit you really hurt my feelings.
Wait ... what? Because I won't give you access to my Facebook?
What's the big deal?
It's personal. I have to believe you're trustworthy and I can't make that kind of call after a 30 minute text exchange.
It's no different than giving out a phone number.
There's a huge difference between a phone number and link to a Facebook profile.
Guess I'm just nosey.
Well like I said, I'm sorry I texted you and I'm sorry I troubled you.
I get the impression this is where you expect me to change my mind?
You should feel bad for what you said.
Feel bad for what? We're just texting. And then you made it awkward.
I'm going now. I'll just stick with the website, ok?
Well ... sure ... wasn't that the plan all along?
Bye.
Have a good night. Remember to brush your teeth in the morning!
I know you would like it if I printed every single text exchange and I'm thinking about it ... I apologize in advance for the length of this dialogue.
I figure a Purple Rain reference is appropriate.
Also, if this text exchange was the plot for a John Hughes film (if he were still with us and making movies for this era), this is the song that would play while Ducky was staring at his iPhone, in the rain, while sitting crouched against the brick wall of a Starbucks after I rejected his Facebook friend request. I mean really, what did he expect?
Okay, I'll omit the headers in this text exchange based on requests that it's easier to follow the exchange without the phone numbers and date/time repeated. Your wish is my command.
I happened to be awake at 1:47 am when this text message came in because my daughter was up coughing up a lung. My replies are in green, bolded.
From: 1905436XXXX
To: 19054427423
November 13 2011 01:47 AM
I've just spent the last 4 hours or so reading your blog. How do you find the time?
I don't sleep.
Oh, you're there. Sorry.
Were you expecting I would have a text message answering service?
LOL no. Does such a thing even exist?
I suppose an auto responder feature would suffice.
Can't sleep?
No, kid is coughing up a lung.
Oh, hope he feels better. Don't you find it weird to just start typing with strangers?
No weirder than how you felt sending me a text.
I just figured it was the same as email.
It is. Texting is considered instant messaging.
Email is considered "Hey I have to write you a novel".
Ha ha ha. True.
So I read you're a big Prince fan.
Yep.
Me too. I can't afford to go see him as the ticket prices are outrageous.
Well I don't smoke or play bingo so I just took the money I would have spent if I did those things and bought a ticket.
Well I do smoke and it's expensive.
I've heard.
Did you ever smoke?
A little in college if out with friends at a bar and there were daiquiris involved but I would pay for it in spades for hours after because of my asthma. As it stands now, just smelling cigarette smoke makes me feel like I'm choking.
That's a good thing then.
That I have asthma or that I don't smoke?
That you have something that makes it difficult to take up the habit.
I also think it's a disgusting habit so that trumps the asthma. However, I'm an expert in addiction so I can see how need trumps the risks. Smoke 'em if you got 'em.
LOL. How are you an expert in addiction?
I've had my fair share of health damaging dependencies.
Don't tell me you were addicted to cocaine!
The hell? Um. no.
Oh, I wouldn't have been surprised if you told me you were. Most people who are funny have trouble with nose candy.
Uh ... ok ...
It's true. Look at Chris Farley.
Dude, how did we go from the price of Prince tickets to Chris Farley? Or that I'm possibly addicted to blow?
LOL, ok. What row did you get?
Section 118. Can't remember the seat number or row but it's close.
Is it good?
Right beside the stage according to the seat chart.
Sounds great! What's your #1 Prince song? Purple Rain?
Actually no. It's "Take me with you". I used to drum the shit out of that song, especially the beginning and towards the end, in my dad's garage. I just love the whole arrangement. The strings and tamborine.
I can't say I know that one.
And you call yourself a fan ...
Hey just because I can't remember a song doesn't mean I'm not a fan.
Yes it does.
I'll go YouTube it right now.
You go right on ahead.
I'm listening to the song now. It's ok.
What?! How can you disrespect the song with just a "it's ok"?
I like his stuff more from the 90s.
Blasphemy! His entire song catalogue is righteous. You can't single out one particular era.
Well I like Madonna but I can't stand the stuff she's put out in the past 10 years.
You can't compare Madonna to Prince.
So there isn't a single Prince song you don't like?
I hate My Name is Prince. I also can't handle When Doves Cry.
WDC is a classic.
It is, doesn't mean I have to like it.
What bothers you about When Doves Cry?
The conga drums. There's also this repetitive piano beat. It's just two keys being pressed in double time. Drive me crazy. It shows up around the time the lyrics start with "Maybe I'm ... ". I can't listen to it.
Wow, that's pretty specific.
I also hate Do Me Baby. Song is bloody awful.
I thought you said his whole song catalogue was awesome.
I said it was righteous.
But then you also say there are songs you don't like.
I merely do not like the arrangement. The lyrics are okay. WDC has great lyrics. I hate the arrangement.
Interesting. You know, I feel like I know you now, especially after reading your blog and having this conversation.
Uh, I can't say I feel the same ...
Don't be creeped out. I'm decent.
I know you are but I've known my parents all my life and everyday there's something new I learn, like how my dad can't stand toasted whole wheat bread.
I'm serious! I mean I feel like you and I could be friends.
That's sweet ... and it's probably true....
But ...
But ... it's a bit much too soon.
Ouch. Harsh.
I take it you're a guy.
Yeah, so.
Here's the thing, the blog is a persona. Sure, I interject legit and true things about me or my life but generally, I keep a lot of things private. It's not that I don't want to meet new people. I love meeting new people but there is no way in hell you can tell if you'd like me as a friend from the way a website is produced or written.
Ok. Can we at least Facebook each other?
Dude, what part of personal don't you get? I'm not comfortable with that.
I would die 4 u.
Gett off.
Everybody Loves Me
Crazy You.
Extraordinary
Hey, I can google a list of Prince songs too, you know. You can stop now.
I'm sorry I bothered you. I figured we could at least chat since I think you're hilarious but I will admit you really hurt my feelings.
Wait ... what? Because I won't give you access to my Facebook?
What's the big deal?
It's personal. I have to believe you're trustworthy and I can't make that kind of call after a 30 minute text exchange.
It's no different than giving out a phone number.
There's a huge difference between a phone number and link to a Facebook profile.
Guess I'm just nosey.
Well like I said, I'm sorry I texted you and I'm sorry I troubled you.
I get the impression this is where you expect me to change my mind?
You should feel bad for what you said.
Feel bad for what? We're just texting. And then you made it awkward.
I'm going now. I'll just stick with the website, ok?
Well ... sure ... wasn't that the plan all along?
Bye.
Have a good night. Remember to brush your teeth in the morning!
Saturday, November 12, 2011
So you can't affford the $65 or so for a new antenna for your SUV, so you steal mine?!
Some f&%k@r unscrewed and stole the radio antenna mast from my Chevrolet SUV while it was parked in the Oshawa GO lot yesterday.
How did I clue in you ask? Imma tell you.
When I started my vehicle last night, my usual station was nothing but static so I hit one of my radio preset buttons and was also greeted with a crappy signal. I drove home and mentioned it to my husband and we assumed maybe my radio was having electrical issues.
Due to a massive paving project going on behind my townhouse, all of the owners are forced to park out front, on the roadway in front of our homes. This morning, I threw open the drapes in my bedroom and looked down at my SUV and zeroed in on the roof line.
My antenna mast, which sticks out at a 45 degree angle near the back roof hatch, was missing.
Upon closer inspection, it appears the 10-inch rubber mast, had been unscrewed from the base. The hell!? I had radio reception yesterday morning so I know this happened sometime between 7am and 6:30pm.
This is so low. I can't even begin to describe how low and petty this is.
This is what was taken.
Stupid donkeys.
How did I clue in you ask? Imma tell you.
When I started my vehicle last night, my usual station was nothing but static so I hit one of my radio preset buttons and was also greeted with a crappy signal. I drove home and mentioned it to my husband and we assumed maybe my radio was having electrical issues.
Due to a massive paving project going on behind my townhouse, all of the owners are forced to park out front, on the roadway in front of our homes. This morning, I threw open the drapes in my bedroom and looked down at my SUV and zeroed in on the roof line.
My antenna mast, which sticks out at a 45 degree angle near the back roof hatch, was missing.
Upon closer inspection, it appears the 10-inch rubber mast, had been unscrewed from the base. The hell!? I had radio reception yesterday morning so I know this happened sometime between 7am and 6:30pm.
This is so low. I can't even begin to describe how low and petty this is.
This is what was taken.
Stupid donkeys.
Hey Blondie, you forgot something. Your hair.
Yep, a woman cleaned her hairbrush in front of a TCT reader and put the ball of hair on the seat beside her and promptly left the train.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Integrity is what you do when no one is watching. But you were noticed anyway...
From: 1416938XXXX
To: 19054427423
November 11 2011 05:42 PM
Funny, there is all kinds of bags in the aisle. Then this one guy (doin it right) has a bigger bag then all of them, one of those rectangular hockey/gym style bags, stuffed under his seat. Mind boggling that the rest just dont get it. Medal deserved for sure.
It's bad enough some of you expect the rest of us to ask you to move your stuff off the seats but it's even worse when we have to walk over and around your stuff.
To: 19054427423
November 11 2011 05:42 PM
Funny, there is all kinds of bags in the aisle. Then this one guy (doin it right) has a bigger bag then all of them, one of those rectangular hockey/gym style bags, stuffed under his seat. Mind boggling that the rest just dont get it. Medal deserved for sure.
It's bad enough some of you expect the rest of us to ask you to move your stuff off the seats but it's even worse when we have to walk over and around your stuff.
Touching fan art by a crazy train reader
This brings a tear to my eye.
I've made it my banner logo for the rest of the month.
I have this saying ...
No one makes friends with salad and now there's this:
It's Friday. I'm all about last call for alcohol at the moment.
It's Friday. I'm all about last call for alcohol at the moment.
They forgot!
from April C xxxxxxxxx@hotmail.com
to cj@thiscrazytrain.com
date Fri, Nov 11, 2011 at 11:09 AM
I work in Scotia Plaza. Every year the PA system goes off to remind us all that it is 11 o'clock and then two minutes later, it sounds again to mark the end of silence.
This year . . . nothing. They forgot.
They forgot them ... men and woman who so bravely fought and so many of them who gave their lives (and continue to fight) so that they would have the privilege of being allowed to forget.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning, I will remember them.
Thank you to all who did remember!
to cj@thiscrazytrain.com
date Fri, Nov 11, 2011 at 11:09 AM
I work in Scotia Plaza. Every year the PA system goes off to remind us all that it is 11 o'clock and then two minutes later, it sounds again to mark the end of silence.
This year . . . nothing. They forgot.
They forgot them ... men and woman who so bravely fought and so many of them who gave their lives (and continue to fight) so that they would have the privilege of being allowed to forget.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning, I will remember them.
Thank you to all who did remember!
Three little old ladies
Three little old ladies
stand united at Union Station
One holds a picture of a man in uniform
Who died in battle long before most of us were born
People rush by
anxious to get to their destination
But I stop and look at the picture
of a man who must have died
This is my husband the woman said
His name was Mark and he was amongst the dead
Slaughtered at Dieppe
He never stood a chance
He's why I'm here
On this day of Remembrance
I touched her arm
She reached out for an embrace
And I let her hug me
As a smile spread across my face
I will remember I said
I will make sure I honour the dead
She whispered thank you
I whispered you're welcome
To the three little old ladies
Who stood united at Union Station
Imma just put this out there
It's Remembrance Day. This means a lot of you are off today since a good percentage of the readership work in government and banking.
The rest of you are in finance, insurance, real estate and law so I know you're working.
I really hope many of you who are privileged to have this day off make an effort to go to the remembrance day ceremonies in your town or city and if you did, thank you.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
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