Fucking tourists!!! (No, not literally)

The BBQ Pit
1

OK, listen, asshole. I don’t give a fuck that you live in Wyoming or North Dakota or some other state with zero population density. You come to a city, expect to get bumped into without freaking out like a little girl. I understand it’s not your fault that your parents were first cousins and that you therefore are too busy drooling to learn how to work the Metro turnstyle – which is why I said excuse me when I walked into you after I put my card in because you were standing there looking at the pretty colors of the slate grey wall or perhaps were trying to remember to breathe. But then when you refused to move forward and the Metro gate was going to close on my knee, you’re goddam right you’re going to be pushed out the way. I know that you don’t have automated public transportation gates in Armpit, Nebraska, or public transportation, or automation, but when those things close on your leg, they fucking hurt! I’ll be damned if I’m going to limp around for a week because you’re too slow and stupid to get out the way.

And I don’t give a fuck that you didn’t know how much money you had left on your Metro card and wanted to check and so started moving backwards, because where the fuck was I supposed to go? Just shrink down so you could step on top of me? Or would you rather crush me against the gate? 'Cuz I had nowhere else to go. I guess maybe your eyesight is poor, shithead (it’d have to be to leave the house wearing that outfit) but even the blind manage to notice that there are these big brown barriers that make it impossible to for me to move right or left (OK, maybe the blind don’t know they’re brown, but what’s your fucking excuse?). When you start coming towards me, I can either get slammed against the gate, or I can push your pansy ass out of my way. I’m not sorry about which I chose, dickweed.

But even though you obviously don’t know shit about using a subway (I’m surprised! You seemed so urbane in your tiny khaki shorts and fannypack), you assume that I’m just pushing you out of the way because, what, I want to get close to your manly musk? Believe me, your fucking musk was plenty close enough before you blocked my exit and made me run into you. Is it because you were afraid you’d catch teh gay? I admit, I was wearing my cuffs open like Carson on Queer Eye, but I was also standing next to my wife. (You’re fucking lucky it wasn’t her you pulled this shit on, pencildick, or I would have laid you fucking out.) I guess you figured anyone whose socks match his shirt had to be a little light in the loafers. And while it’s true, I would have loved to smother your hot (albeit shockingly misshapen) bod in man kisses – ugh, I can’t even pretend, you troglodyte.

Or maybe you figured because all those crazy city dwellers are all addicted to crack and crystal meth that I was going to rob you of the $40 you had in your pocket and then you wouldn’t be able to buy the tickets to get in to where you were going – the National Zoo. Which is free, you cocksucker! Of course, that’s why I was pushing your shoulders! Do you really keep your dough up there? Because your shoulders were already pretty sad and weakly defined – if you actually had some padding there I’d have to start seeing you as sad and pathetic, instead of merely the ugly stupid fuck that you are.

But so then, once I got your slow, smelly corpse out of my way, you began to fucking whine that I had assaulted you! Oh, heaven forfend! First of all, imagine Rocky the Flying Squirrel yelling after taking one in the balls. That’s about what your girlish but astonishingly annoying voice sounds like. Second, it’s battery, you dim bulb, not assault. Assault is when I attempt to touch you – and believe me, if I had any choice in the matter I’d never have attempted it. And to threaten to sue someone you bump into in D.C.? How stupid can you get? Who else lives here but lawyers? Lawyers at big, successful law firms that can buy your sorry ass – or bury it – a million times over without breaking a sweat. That, actually, would have been the most fun that could have come out of this whole thing – you suing me, and my employers sinking their teeth into your pasty white hide as they take you for every penny you’ve ever seen. You don’t fuck with us in our town, son.

Well, I guess that wouldn’t be the most fun that could have resulted, you putrescent toad. I guess the most fun would have been if you’d taken a swing at me. You know you wanted to, fuckface – I could see your fist clenching before you decided to ask the cop to arrest me instead of getting your own fat ass thrown in jail. (Ha! The beast can think!) “Guard! Guard!” He’s got a badge and a gun – he’s a fucking cop, not a guard. We’re not at the community pool in Bumblefuck, Idaho anymore, you simpleton. I really do wish you’d tried that punch, you pansy. I’m not great at taking a punch, I must admit – but in that wide stance and with your arms hanging like a fucking orangutan (no insult to your sister intended) your nuts and your solar plexus were practically screaming “Crush me! Crush meee!” If only I’d had the excuse.

Of course, I had something there you didn’t have – a friend. Oh, I’m sure you would have had a friend there if you had any friends at all – that is, if they weren’t frightened off by your poor hygine or your obnoxious personality or your habit of wearing women’s underpants. On your head. Even if I’d folded like the cheap suit your dad put on before he left your mom’s money on the dresser, Joe would have put his foot so far up your ass you might lose some teeth, you catamite. See, we’ve both grown up, unlike you, you child, you urchin, so we know that you’re not allowed to hit first, but that doesn’t mean we don’t know how to hit.

Of course, once you realized that the cop wasn’t going to take your shit and that the retreat with honor was your only hope (note sarcasm), you decided you’d made your point and slinked away, you poltroon. Then when you saw us in the zoo, you ran away like the little girl your momma always dressed you as. (Better a nice dress than the shirt you had on!) So fuck you. Fuck your stupidity, fuck your illiteracy, fuck your roid rage, fuck your cowardice, fuck your ugly clothes, fuck your selfishness, and fuck the fact that you’re going back to Oklahoma or Tennessee or Ohio or some other place full of folks as afraid of cities as you are and you’re going to tell all the people who pretend to be your friends so you’ll buy them booze that those folks in the city were just as unfriendly as them what you see on the teevee. You’re going to spew this shit even though every single problem in your whole fucking life (and this post is already too fucking long to list 'em) is not because everyone you meet is a asshole but really because you’re a shit for brains fat fuck who doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground and assumes everyone is out to get him. Well, you cretin, from now on, we fucking are.

–Cliffy

2

Thank you and please come back to visit our lovely city again soon. We hope you enjoyed your stay. :smiley:

3

What’s a “turnstyle”?

4

Impressive use of adjectives. Bumblefuck, Idaho was my personal favorite. I was born in DC and grew up in the area and I know exactly what you are talking about. I refer to them all as Cletus the Slackjawed Yokel ala The Simpsons (alternatively Cletuses, or Cletii). Next time try tapping him/them on one shoulder, then squeezing past on the other side. They will spend the next ten minutes bitching about the guy behind you, allowing you to go past unsullied.

5

Oh, that was good. I especially like the throwaway lines (“Even if I’d folded like the cheap suit your dad put on before he left your mom’s money on the dresser…” ).

Those little asides, along with the careful and controlled tone that it requires to muster them are one of the things that distinguish a first-class rant. It’s a comprehensive insult, castigating not merely the target per se, but his entire social context of origin, making it clear that the fault lies not in his actions, but in his very essence. He has not done wrong; he is wrong.

And I hate tourons, too.

6

Anyone who can use both “catamite” and “poltroon” is tops in my book.

7

In the next episode of Strangers In The City, hilarity ensues when Cliffy and Moe discover that they’ve been living in the same apartment building for the past five years.

8

Son, that’s some mighty fine use of invective and mastery of the Rant style. Though it’s a clear example of what people mean when they say Washington combines Northern genteelity with Southern efficency…

BTW did you have a chance to observe if he just stared in awe at the escalator shaft upon getting to it? (for those who don’t know, the Red Line going up to National Zoo has some deep-and-steep-assed escalator shafts)

However, I am now picturing the Wheel of Karma at the time of Cliffy’s reincarnation landing on “Disneyland greeter”… :smiley:

9

So guy accidently takes a step backward, so you shove him out of the way, get pissed when he calls you on it, and start making fun of whole states.

Durnit, I wish I were culterated enough to be a city folk like you.

10

They can actually read, too. You should look into that.

11

One wolf to another, I’ll give you a hint.

From the OP:

I know. It’s a big quote, but I did not want to reduce the majesty of this pit thread by attempting to edit it.

12

So, if I understand the OP correctly, you pushed someone out of the way to avoid being caught in the Metro turnstyle, and you think he overreacted. And then you come in here and insult him, his family and several regions of the country. And you’re disappointed that you didn’t get to beat the hell out of him.

Lighten up.

13

…Go YOU!
Anyone who trys to get someone arrested for going through a turnstile at speed should be mocked mercilessly

14

Sounds to me like he had the best of you – unless he is also spinning faster and faster into a foaming frenzy of purple rage.

What you saw was not stupidity, but ignorance – a quality which you have demonstrated yourself in your post.

Exit the New Carrollton Line, or its equivalent, and drive far away.

15

Walk LEFT, stand RIGHT, motherfuckers. Arrrrgh!!

I knew this was going to be about DC tourists. Goddam, the Metro gates aren’t that difficult. Put your card in, then follow the gigantic arrow on top of the gate showing you where your card pops out again, pull out the card and walk through the gate as it opens. Yet thousands of you idiots coming here on either an a) spring break high school class trip, or b) to see the cherry blossoms can’t figure it out. Jeebus.

16

Hmm. I’m from Ohio. Am I afraid of cities? Huh, I guess I’m not. Do I wear ugly clothes? No… Do I spell television as teevee? No, again. Am I a hick? No, I’m literate and travelled.

Put down that wide brush and step away from the rant. Good boy.

17

How much book-learning does it take to figure out not to stand (to say nothing of back up) in a bottleneck in a high traffic pedestrian area?

18

More than it takes to lament that you didn’t have an excuse to kick someone in the crotch.

19

Hallelujah. The train station in downtown Chicago that I go through every work day is also an Amtrak station, and I can’t count how many times I’ve nearly tripped over a clueless person (typically with one of those upright wheeled suitcases in tow) who stops immediately at the top of the one-person-wide escalator as they gape at the cross-traffic. Hello, I can only backpedal on those stairs for so long before those behind me start piling up as well!

20

I lament every day that goes by without giving me the excuse to kick someone in the crotch.