People I Should've Killed Last Night1. The bitch at the club who nearly burnt me with her cigarette, not out of malice but merely because she's a dizzy yuppie broad who shouldn't have been at the god damn goth club anyway. For some fucking reason, there was a bachelorette party full of Lincoln Park bitches swarming the club, blocking the sink in the bathroom, falling around because they were drunk and wearing heels and their boyfriends weren't there to hold them up as they stumbled and shrieked the yuppie mating call, "Woaahhh I'm like, soooo drunk!" They all had matching, lime green boas and were wearing their usual yuppie clothes, but in black as to blend in with the spooky folk around them. Like we were fooled. Anyway, as I was walking by this one bitch, I felt a hotness, just a swipe of hotness on my arm. Then I look and said yuppie broad was swaying in her chair, barely able to hold up the hand with the cigarette. I should've slapped her or pulled her hair or dragged her out in the rain and stomped her head against the curb, but I wasn't wearing my curb stomping boots and my arm wasn't that burnt so I just said, "Watch it, cunt!" and she looked a little scared. After all, I was wearing devil horns. And in this bitch's state of innebriation, she probably thought I was the dark lord, herself. 2. The princess in the vinyl dress who thought she owned every dick in the club. If you ditch the tall, quiet guy in the trench coat, the one with the black and white hair to go make out with the guy in the Hitler suit and his Asian friend, then guy #1 is fair game. I can saunter up beside him and slather ice up and down my arm and when he gives me a charming look of concern and asks me what's wrong and I tell him, "Some bitch burnt me with her cigarette" and he tells me to, "Mix up basil and oregano and put it on the burn" and I say, "Will that heal it faster, or just make me taste better?" and he gives me a coy little smile and says, "I'd have to try it", you have no fucking right to push your way in between us. This boring brown haired thing in a vinyl dress, that was sagging at the tits because she couldn't fill it, seemed to think she had exclusive flirting rights to every guy in the club. Now, in this case I walked away because basil-boy didn't seem like the type who'd be impressed by bloodshed. And besides, my friend Jeanine was approaching, pointing to the door. It was time to leave. But princess, I'll be back and you best not run into me on the dance floor. 3. The cowboys at the diner. This pair of tools in matching cowboy hats walked into the diner, saw me and my tattooed companions and said to the waitress, "Can we sit in the normal people section?" I don't think they realized they were the freaks. This is motherfucking Chicago. I don't see any herds of cattle that need to be steered to greener pastures. I don't see any bucking broncos that need to be tamed. So get the hell out of our city, or learn to deal with the pierced and funny-hair-colored late night populace. Cowboys fucking suck. Yee-haw! 4. Whoever was driving the ugly-ass blue van that hit my car while backing out of the parking space. Now, I wasn't there to see it. I just remember the van was parked next to me in the diner garage and when I returned to my car, a giant dent was above the wheel. A van-shaped dent. But after thinking about it, that dent was probably old, from when I got in a really bad accident with a van (icy highway, a 5-year-old nearly died), a few years back. It's hard to keep track of the dents in my car, like it's hard to keep track of the scars on my body.
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