Tonight as I sat on the subway reading a book and minding my business a crazy, stinky white man called me a n**ger b**ch! His bizarro commentary was the result of my glancing to my left and meeting his unmedicated eyes. For that transgression, Funk Massa No Home thought it made sense to take it back to the days of Ms. Jane Pitman.
Now this New York story should end here with me musing about the apparent failure of the city’s homeless and mental health services. But I’m too prideful, Leonian and unhinged my damn self to let some filthy alabaster roach get one off.
So right before I moved to the next car to escape his krazy stare and eau-de-somebody-died, I explained how ironic it was that he hated bitches when he was wearing sheer knee-highs clearly manufactured and marketed to BITCHES.
He responded with a forceful “Fuck you, n***ger b**ch!”
I responded with an equally nuts “No. Fuck yooooU, you FUCKING BITCH!”
Of course I’m not convinced that my response was effective. But in lieu of a loaded gun or a higher level of Jesusness, counter-crazying this fool hit the spot.
Maturity is overrated.