GREENPEACE

I'm not a fan of solicitation. Not at all. If there is something I need, a group I would like to join, a charity I would like to give to or something I have a bleeding urge to learn more about, I will take the proper action. I recently purchased a Google on the eBay and have all of the knowledge and resources I need right at the tips of my fingers. It works very well and comes with all kinds of useful things like news, lost & found and porn. So when I get a call, an email, a fax, junk mail, a fake tattoo or something of the like from someone I don't know trying to sell me something I don't need, my erection goes down and I get that feeling -  you know, that feeling you get when there is a little piece of sand in the bottom of your sandal that is rolling around on the ball of your foot but won't go away. I think that is what an oyster must feel like, but I produce no pearl. Just the occasional poo.

I just have no patience for it. I take that back, I can tolerate it. I don't get angry. It just bugs. I think this is why I could never excel in any type of sales. The only thing I can consistently convince people of is giving me extra *fancy kethchup* at Whataburger and free syringes. 

Which brings me to my point. The GreenPeace folks. Now, I understand that these people are out there trying to do a noble thing to help the world for future generations. And that gets an A for admirable in my book . . . but these folks, at least in Chicago, are real jackasses. They travel in packs and I pass at least one group of them on Michigan Avenue each and every morning. It is hard to miss them. First of all, they stink. Most smell like they haven't seen a bar of soap since the Reagan Administration. Second, they wear bright green panchos, making it is easy to spot them from blocks ahead. (Editors note: the panchos do nothing to quell the stench from their dreadlocks and deodorant that came from the bark of a tree. Nay, it is the bark of a tree. They want to be one with nature.) And third, they fucking stalk you and keep pace with you going down the sidewalk, not listening. Not hearing "no thanks". Perhaps just a Q-Tip would do the trick? 

And they like to play the "guilt trip" card.

I'm not kidding. Ask anyone in Chicago and they will tell you the same thing. They are a beating. They are the type of person who, when you spot them, you quickly break out your cell phone and pretend to talk to someone. Does this work? No sir. 

Yesterday:

GP: Say man, if I told you five minutes of your time would save the world, would you stop?

TK: Hi. I appreciate what you're doing, I really do. But I'm in a hurry.

GP: Of course you are. 

TK: Thanks, good luck.

GP: Well, you sure weren't in a hurry when you were destroying our planet were you?

TK: Wow. That was uncalled for.

GP: It's true. You're all the same. No time, we get treated like shit . . . just like the planet. Whatever.

TK: Darling, you approached me. And if I didn't have a lid on my coffee you'd probably hit me with a roofy or something you got at a Panic show.

GP: (trying to make conversation, a "tactic", even though her and her hair were just rude as hell) Oh, you like Panic?

TK: No.

GP: Come one man, 5 minutes.

TK: Seriously, I don't have time and the best I can do for you right now is donate a stick of gum to help plug the ozone layer. 

GP: Oh that helps. Again, nobody cares.

TK: Tell you what, I'll give you five minutes if you buy me a 5 dollar footlong.

GP: I thought you were in a hurry.

TK: I am. Deal?

GP: No.

TK: So, are we finally done?

(GreenPeace huffs, turns around and storms off . . . a cloud of dirt above her head.)

And then I gave my favorite bum in front of Wallgreens 3 dollars.

THE END.

Tyler