Zombie attaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

She certainly looked like a zombie. Must've been the coke.

Alas, I'm not going to praise Tankard, though I do fully aknowledge both their genius and the cheese(cake) factor. In fact, today the mood has been oscillating to the vile depths of the most rotten abyss worthy of a mediocre cookie monster-vocaled death metal band's lyrics. You know, that usual people suck, and I do(n't) give a fuck deal. By the end of the day, this sort of (all too frequent) disposition can only arrive at one logical conclusion: sheer apathy. The latter cannot possibly presuppose a bloggerific entry or any entry at all!

Despite my shudder-inducing lapse into Rand-like objectivist reasoning, I did want to record the fact that today I got attacked by a bum! A female bum, no less! A black female bum! Anywhere between the ages of 25 and 50! High as a kite! Filthy!

Before you begin salivating at the thought of an exciting injury earned, for voyeuristic reasons, or simply because you cannot stomach me (haha, and you're still reading this!!), I have none to report at this time. Simply put, I was on my way from work, tuning out the outside world to the sounds of Swedish music. Conveniently enough, the outside world was in dire need of being tuned out following a hectic corporate day at work and other personal disappointments. A half hour+ walk clad in a tight ankle-length skirt and considerable platforms did not contribute to the trip's enjoyment.

As I was bordering on solipsism, she approached, after a failed attempt of harassing those walking in front of me. Life in Babylon, or any other metropolis for that matter, forces any- and everyone, to get used to the homeless. One's reaction to the grown muscular 25-year old men sporting brand new Nikes and begging for money will spawn a myriad of justified complaints and thus shall be avoided. The same applies to the potential discussion about the vast availability of social services in Canada, funded by your tax money and mine, which just about eliminate the reasons for such existence. Furthermore, the ridiculous act of apologizing for not providing any money to many of these homeless is nonetheless preferred over angry exclamations of "get a job!" or a more blunt "fuck off!" It simply serves as the method of avoiding the chance of having various weaponry pulled on you.

And so I turned down my music and prepared to make just this kind of an apology. Instead, she charged at me, screaming, "Miss! I have a problem, miss! Miss!! I have a problem!" and proceeded to grab my right arm. I tried to shake her off me, as my platforms implied a size advantage, but that made her grab on to me tighter, nearly piercing my forearm with her nails. I at least challenged her vocal attack, suprisingly sans profanity, as I continued to shake her off.

The zombie must've noticed the police car parked a block away near a convenience store, or she just saw another approaching "Miss!!" to resolve her "problem", because she let go of my arm. I could think of nothing better than to return to the aforementioned musical global tune-out as I approached my house.

There I washed my hands thoroughly. My arms too. Take that, Lady Macbeth!