Yesterday, I spent a good hour yelling inadvertantly at some guy sitting next to me while I drank my coffee. I would scream at him and tell him I was really a man. “i’M FUCKING POST-OP. CAN’T YOU TELL!” And he would shrug and probably wonder why they let people like me wander the streets. I told him I got a trach shave, but if he wanted to he could lean in really close and inspect the scar on my throat. He declined my invite. After that, I explained to him how I had to have my brow shave and forehead reconstructive surgery just to look less mannish. I would lean into his face and scream, “CAN YOU SEE MY 5 O’CLOCK SHADOW.” He would nervously say no and pretend to read what was going on inside his coffee cup. So I grabbed my boobs and said, “THESE MOTHER FUCKERS ARE FAKE. PUNCH THEM. PUNCH THEM AND FIND OUT!!!!” After a while I got bored and decided to leave. On my way out, he turned to me and said, “I loved your adams apple.” In this caddy, bitchy way, and let me tell you, no one I pester for an hour gets the liberty to be flippid with me. I turned back to him and said, “Yea, your mom said the same thing when I fucked her in the ass last week.” I am currently holding a vigil in my back yard to the late J.C. with hopes that he will make it possible for me to run into that guy sometime in the future, so I may challenge him to a knife fight. Awesome.