A Blast From The Past

Here’s a little something I wrote a while back with some minor revisions. May the sitdowntragedies commence.

Saturday Night Love on the A Train

WHAP WHAP WHAP came the sounds of open hand slapping rippling tides of fat.  “Get the fuck up bitch!”  “What the fuck a matter with you?!?”  could be heard throughout the terminal.  Ah the sounds of Saturday night love in Manhattan.  But what is all this craziness I speak of?  Well let me rewind the tape fifteen minutes so we may all celebrate this joyous occasion together.

It all took place on a beautiful Saturday evening directly underneath the feet of the stoic stone giants who overlook the lowest parts of Manhattan.  I was finishing a gruelingly average hour long commute out of the bowels of Bed Stuy, and was looking forward to was getting back to my tiny little dorm room with its tiny little dreams.  The train made the scheduled stop at Jay St. (incidentally only two stops from where I would be departing), when suddenly I hear a man loudly proclaiming  “thank you officer” and simultaneously see this gigantic wall of woman flesh half-stumble, half-fall into the train.  As she seemed to zig and zag toward a seat like some sort of cottage cheese filled zeppelin that had sprung a massive leak, I noticed that there was an almost comically smaller man attached to the back of her shirt, who appeared to be aiming her toward some other destination than the floor.  With a sigh and a thud this colossus of a lady fell into the seat and began blubbering and falling all over a ‘gentleman of the streets’ who’s only crime was trying to catch up on his beauty sleep in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Well it probably doesn’t come as much of a shock to anyone reading this that the root of this poor beast’s problems could all be traced back to an overindulgence in drink.  To put it mildly, she was fucking wasted.  So wasted in fact, that she was not having too much success with certain tasks, such as keeping her eyes from not rolling back into her head, not slobbering and drooling all over herself, sitting, or breathing very well (though I readily admit, that last one could be entirely due to the ocean sitting underneath her shirt slowly crushing her lungs).  Her ‘boo’ on the other hand, was a firestorm of activity and encouragement.  With a loving hand he would push her back against the seat when she started falling too far forward, with his blessed lips he would utter sweet nothings into her ear such as “bitch what the fuck wrong with you” and “you need to cut the shit and get it together.”  And for a moment, there almost looked to be a hint of recognition in her eyes; a look of mutual love and admiration that could be read on her face.  Then her eyes would start to roll back into her head, she would start falling forward, and the whole process would begin anew.  Sort of like a symbol of love eternal.

Things went on in this fashion through the next two stops, and upon arriving at my place of departure I discovered that these two lovebirds also had every intention of disembarking as well.  I say they had every intention, because after much coaxing and encouragement, the much smaller gentleman was only able to pull his lovely Jezebel up to her feet, before she managed to perform some sort of half-assed barrel roll and come plummeting to the floor of the train with all the grace and beauty of a jumbo jet.  Really it was a bit of a shock, and most of us just sat there for a second as shorty tried to figure out how he was going to rescue his beloved from this terrifying predicament.  At this point he had some options:  He could of called for help and perhaps had her taken to the hospital to have some of the booze pumped out of her stomachs, or he could have asked another train patron for assistance in either getting her back in a seat, or alternatively off the train.  He could have done these things, but then again these solutions are bitch-ass maneuvers not worthy of someone for whom he deeply cares for.  Instead he opted for the less-traveled route of standing over her and screaming obscenities into her face while slapping her repeatedly about the face and body.  Again and again and again came down thundering blows which were only magnified by the shock waves of fat rippling across her tremendous hide.

 

An accurate approximation.

By this point I had exited the train (as I was unsure of its structural soundness after her nose dive) and stood with about twenty others watching this shocking display of love and compassion from the corridor.  The conductor had, by this point, realized that something was amiss and called the authorities to take care of the situation, which I can only guess provided extra fuel to this young man’s resolve, as he began even more fervently raining down both verbal and physical blows in an attempt to rouse his beauty from her much needed slumber.  Realizing that this “lovesault” was not working, he began to try and pull her out by the arms.  Unfortunately I fear he may have lost sight of the laws of physics at this point, for short of a pulley system-or possibly a cart-he wasn’t getting her out of that train by himself.  Then suddenly the great beast made a horrendous guttural noise and started to roll.  She managed to make it onto her side…when tragedy struck!  Her tank-top became stuck on one of the seats on the train which had the effect of releasing one of her great meat paddies from its holder.  Determined to fight through this embarrassment, she managed to roll completely onto her stomach before retreating once again to her restful slumber.

Seeing her flapjack hanging out and hearing the heckles of some young punks who just don’t know what love is, the boyfriend went into a rage.  He exited the train and confronted the heckling youngsters threatening to “slit their bitch ass throats,” before proceeding once again resuming operation lovesault.  By this time though, things were becoming restless.  See, while an apathetic group of subway denizens have no qualms about sitting around and watching some guy try to slap Cthulhu back into existence, what that group is not going to deal with is having the train held up because of it.  If only this tragic romance had taken place somewhere other than the middle of the train, then it might have gone on all night; instead three well built passengers who obviously had important places to be hoisted up the great beast from the bowels of the floor and deposited her on the stairway right outside of the train.  Relieved that they were now able to continue on with their evening of fun and shenanigans, the boyfriend seemed to cool down and took a seat next to her, leaning on her as she rested peacefully against the railing.

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