oh seven oh eight oh nine

there’s a kid on this train and i hate him. i thank thank god and my friends in Boston for this laptop and the beer in my hand for without them i may kill a small child. the parents are arrogant fucking assholes that think their kids are more important than the sanity of everyone else traveling on this machine. the kids are screaming and one is practicing his gargling.
it’s rare for me to ever think about having children and at this very moment  i find the mere thought to be torture. a can of sleeman cream ale sits between my legs as i type on the little railway table. it’s about the perfect size for a netbook. hard luck  if you have anything bigger than 10″ inches.
if that little fucker screams again. i’m listening to the best mix ever. bondi beach surf-side sounds, a unique mix someone gave me i’ve never been able to find again. i’ll share it one day. my friends know the one i mean. the internet on this train is also shitty. i tryped this on notepad first. I chat with my boss on bbm about him saying I need to stop chatting/tweeting and the president knows.

god, there’s a fucking freight train delay now.

it’s funny because the girl giving the message on the intercom hates what she is saying and her poor voice is hesitant and scared. i find that comforting because  while everyone else is getting pissed and i don’t really give a shit because all i’m doing is hanging out and writing.  i have all my gadgets and using the train’s internet and power.

ok i give a shit now. we’re stopped and the damn attendant is no where to be found. i told him i wanted to order two drinks for a FUCKING REASON AND this is IT. my enemy keeps roaring a kids HAHAHAHAHAHA laugh really loud. i would have never acted like those kids, ever. i’d have gotten told. we were very well behaved. children. I thought the train was a good idea but now I am dying to get off this thing.

i listened to a couple of passenger Robert’s audio voicemails and his limewire library over the internet. he likes Weird Al, tool, starrs of the lid, hala strana. I wonder if he’s cool. I will never know.