Tag, You’re It!

Stunned.

That’s the only way I could describe the way I felt at that moment. What lay in front of me made less than no sense. How can something be less than nothing at all, you may ask. It’s as if logic itself had imploded, creating a blackhole, swallowing all around it. A less-than-nothing void of logic that had caught me in it’s vacuum.

This feeling of utter emptiness, of total annilation of all common sense, was brought upon me by a simple act of vandalism. Someone etched something into the bus seat in front of me. That’s it. But that one tiny portion of fuckheadedness sent me into a spiral of doubt. Doubt that the human race could exist much longer. Doubt that I, myself, was even alive anymore. As if I had died, and caught the Express bus straight to the depths of my own personal hell. A hell where people carve random shit into bus seats, without any regard for sense at all.

“A Drunk”

That’s all it said.

A Drunk? Really, you fucking dillweeds?! What does that even mean! If you want me to read your shit, you need to supply a context. Now my over-thinking brain kicks into high gear: “Hey Bob… I’m going to go to work figuring that shit out. Why don’t you sit there and drool on yourself for awhile. Unfortunately, I can’t provide basic motor functions, ’cause I’ll have to bring in the whole brain trust on this one. I’ll need all of your gray matter to figure out what in the name of Vishnu that means. Sorry. Hopefully your bowels don’t release while I’m working. That’d be embarassing.”

And so, my brain goes to work. First, it takes it upon itself to analyze the words involved. “Drunk”, as in someone who drinks too much. And “A”, which at this moment makes the word “Drunk” singular. So it’s only one drunk. Well that’s a fuckin’ relief isn’t it? Wouldn’t want an entire army of drunks riding the bus now would we?

Alright, now we have to start thinking about WHO wrote this. Was the person writing this the aformentioned drunk? Or was the person who wrote this discussing another public transportation patron? Or maybe this was in the context of a story, being told to another passenger?

“My mom is… well… she’s…”

*scrap scratch scratch carving-sound-effect*

A Drunk

“…I don’t give a flying turd burrito, Jim.”

Or perhaps there is more to this. Maybe something on a deeper level than I had originally thought? Now my brain is seeking out the existential, the metaphysical, the… whatever the fuck Stephen Hawkins does. My brain is looking into this random act of wordsmithery as a philosophical musing. Perhaps this was meant as an abstract statement of the American culture. We’re all just mindless drunks, staggering through the streets from drink to drink.

Alright, probably not. It’s probably just someone being a shit-cock.

There is a point to this. I am about to get to that point, but first, I need a short nap. My whole body hurts just processing the events that have unfolded in my psyche after reading this.

—————————————————————————–

I’m back. Now to the point.

Folks, if you’re going to be a punk and put graffiti on things: GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER! So many times over the years have I seen graffiti on walls, buses, buildings, that just isn’t worth putting there. Writing “Cuntface” in huge white letters on the side of the Public Library serves zero purpose. And you spelt “Cuntface” with a K, you dumb ass.

Look, what I’m saying is: Graffiti is a form of art. And as such, there are a few people who are excellent at it. And a WHOLE LOT OF PEOPLE WHO AREN’T. Not even one tiny bit. Poorly executed words are unimpressive and a waste of resources.

This, this is fucking cool. Creative, interesting. Fun to look at.

Writing “Thug 4 Life” in horribly disfigured letters, not fucking cool. Not creative. Not interesting. And certainly not fun to look at. Nothing is more Thug than being a total fucktard.

The worst comes when someone brillant does their thing. Let’s say you’re walking under an underpass and you see something like this:

Pretty damn epic. Took someone with real talent some time and effort to make that. However, as you look closer, it appears some dimwith with a five dollar can of spray paint wrote “Poop Monster” over it in shitty letters. Totally ruining the entire picture.

You, Poop Monster, are a fucking asshole on a level that warrants death. I want you to take that can of spraypaint, give it to someone near you, and tell them to beat you in the head with it repeatadly until you cease to live. Please? And make sure they make it slow. You deserve the worst kind of torture a can of spray paint can deliver unto you. You deserve a dose of Spray PAIN(t).

However, there is something even LOWER than the asshole writing dumb words over works of art. And that is the person who spray paints shit like THIS:

I hate you. You know that. Penis’. Really?

I give up. I can’t even come up with a witty end to this. Only a desperate plea.

Please, for the love of all that is holy, if you suck ass at art: don’t tag buildings. It’s just unnecessary crap. You’re a scumbag hoodlum and I hope you bleed from your ass tonight. But, BUT, if you are good at it. If you’re a decent graffiti artist, than by all means, go down to the local government building at 3am and paint an epic mural all over the wall. I don’t care if it’s illegal, it’s expression. And expression is more important than stupid abitrary laws about buildings being bland and boring.

“A Drunk”, my ass.