Friday night, on the subway home from E.S.’s apartment, I was subjected once again to the homeless guy who tells Michael Jackson jokes. These are never, ever funny. He asks questions like, “Why does Michael Jackson always arrive late?” and, even though no one evinces any interest in the answer, follows quickly with “Because he likes to come in a little behind.” Then he jingles the coins in his cup three times and goes on to another joke, about what Michael Jackson and a Catholic priest have in common, or what Michael Jackson ordered from the Chinese restaurant.
But the thing is, Friday night there were three people sitting together on the subway car eating it up. They laughed harder with each joke he told. I hated them and wanted terrorists to have planted a bomb on the car just so that they would be fatally pierced by the shrapnel.
And then they left the car without giving the guy any money.
I was so offended by the behavior of everyone involved that I got off the subway immediately and inhaled two slices of pizza, thereby ruining my diet.
Which just made me hate them all even more.