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Dear Girl Who Accidentally Touched My Bird in The Elevator,

So I was standing in the elevator minding my own business, right? And I was busy talking to The Mordo and Helga, minding my own business when your group just came in barging. I counted between 7-10 people. It should’ve been an ordinary crowded elevator moment. But you had to come in, texting and not minding your surroundings and swinging your arms like crazy. Yep, swinging your arms like crazy in a crowded elevator.

Guess where your hand landed.

Reenactment

So, Girl Who Accidentally Touched My Bird in The Elevator, I usually don’t mind. Accidents do happen, you know. But it was really amusing to see you stop in your tracks, freeze for around thirty seconds, panic written across your face. At this point I was so fucking trying to keep my laughter in. So I decided to do what any other gentleman would do in such an awkward situation: stare at you and keep the awkwardness up for the long elevator ride from the 25th floor down to the ground floor. (more…)

Dear Faggort Who Refused to Stop Rubbing My Bird on the MRT,

I know we haven’t met before and I know you may have been taken by my Dominic Ochoa-like ways. I know that as fugly as you are, you haven’t had secks since like forever. I pity you. But not enough for pity secks.

Why the hell do you think that rubbing your hand against my bird is such a good thing? I know it’s pretty crowded and all and I know that you may have a thing for public secks, but geez, that’s just plain gross. Haven’t you already taken a hint when I pushed your hand away and moved two inches back? You really had to move closer to me everytime I move away. And is “back off, buddy” Greek to you? Do I have to speak fag so you’d understand me?

(more…)