Words are like the film on deep water

Public transportation is for jerks and lesbians - Homer J. Simpson

A night of champagne and games was an enjoyable way to mark my first and last (for a while) visit to Alex's new apartment. I was going to mark it, literally, with some kind of glandular activity, but Alex threatened to sue for damages.

On way, on the bus into the city, I couldn't help but overhear (cuz it was so damn loud) a depressing argument between two extremely stupid people. The kind of people that would strike up a conversation with Katie or J-Girl or Matt S. (Those examples should be sufficient for this blog's readership.)

Neanderthal Man: "What? I don't remember you going to hospital"
Neanderthal Woman: "Yeeeaah, remember when you stabbed me cos you though I stole your pills, it went into my lung and just missed my heart, ya F'ing C', that's why I was in hospital for three months"

Various other arguments about which of their friends were currently in jail, and which were in rehab.

These people were obviously quite limited mentally. The whole trip I was trying to decide if it was congenital, demanding much pity, or self-applied, demanding not so much. I think maybe a combination.

They spoke very slowly, like a baby taking its first unstable steps. It seems that their training in the rich array of communications that our language offers began with belligerent argument, and never advanced further.

"The limits of my language means the limits of my world."

To make this entry a bit more cheery, though, here's a favourite picture of two girls called Jenny. Look at that mischievous grin! Oh, dangerous, dangerous . . .