To the girl on the bus ...

Dear girl who is standing with her back to me on the bus,

I envy your slender figure, your stylish choice in girlsish attire, and especially your long, flowing locks. You obviously take care of your mane as only a true lady can: Washing it, conditioning it, cutting it into that straight Cleopatra shape every other week, scenting it with exotic oils from the east, combing it when it is ruffled by the incorigible mountain breeze. Don't blame the wind, shapely long-haired girl on the bus; it only reaches out to touch your amber strands as all the elements strain to do. The very sun comes out so that its golden fingers might play through your ethereal strands.

I am breathless with excitment to behold your face, dearest girl who is standing with her back to me on the bus. I am counting the seconds until I exit, and am able to brush past you and experience divinity.

5,4,3,2,1 ....


Ahhhh.

I have one request, lovely girl with the long, long locks that stood in front of me on the bus:

Shave your beard. It ruins the effect.

You are a walking commercial for birth control

I can't believe you would have dared to cross me, Hopelessly Dumb Bleach-Blonde LaCrosse Girl. I know I'm just your standardized test instructor; I'm only responsible for the your statistical representation to the institutions that will control your fate in this world. Oh yes, Blonde Lacross Girl ... By all means, give me lip, because Jesus knows I have neither the wit nor the resource to break you. I know these trivial details are of no consequence to a girl with matching miniature poodles who have been bleached white in a Clorox bath of hate.


But perhaps it will interest you to know that I am not tutoring your apathetic, half-wit ass for the joy of instruction, but rather because your mother is paying me well. She can afford to pay me well because she is fucking a lawyer and lives in a giant cookie cutter mansion that is designed to compensate for the misery she has endured since her unwanted pregnancy. And because your IQ is abyssmal, I will mention that that unwanted pregnancy was YOU.


No matter how much the poor woman drank or how much crack she snorted, you just kept on keepin' on. And now she pays me exhorbitant amounts of money to spoon-feed you mashed peas and algebra because you wouldn't know a coherent thought if it jacked off in your eye.