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To the asshat passed out on an apartment building's lawn Paul Ryan Dear asshat, Cass Street in La Crosse, WI is a busy place. I live on it, so I know. It's one of the most travelled streets in the city, so when some preppy sandal-wearing loser like yourself drinks too much and passes out on the lawn of an apartment building there, people tend to notice. This was your mistake, Passed Out Guy. If you had passed out on a quiet side street, no one would have noticed. If you hadn't been dressed like a poseur, people would have assumed you were a homeless person, and been too scared of you to harass you. But that was not the case, so people laughed and threw things at you. I took your sandal - which had fallen off your foot and onto the sidewalk - and kicked it into the street. Sure, I could have helped you. I could have tapped you on the shoulder to wake you, and said, "Had a little too much to drink on a Sunday night, eh?", but since preppy poseurs were always the type of person who tormented me throughout high school and college, I just shrugged my shoulders and moved on. I took the New York attitude of "ain't my problem". At least I was nice enough not to call the police, Passed Out Guy. Then you would have been arrested for underage drinking, and put in detox with the other losers pathetic enough to fall asleep in public by themselves on a Sunday night. At least I was nice enough not to do anything worse than kick your sandal into the street. I could have squirted ketchup on your shaved head, stolen your wallet, or put applesauce down your pants. I could have copped a urination on you. If I had been in the mood for a comedic project of sorts, I could have done all these things, taken photos of it, and submitted it to a local art show. I figure if you're dumb enough to pass out in public, you're a temporary public figure. Passing out inside is a normal event. Passing out next to a busy street is the type of event your read about on Fark.com. But don't get the wrong idea, Passed Out Guy. You're not a celebrity. We're not laughing with you, discussing how that's happened to us all at one point or another. We're laughing at you, discussing how we'd never be stupid enough to let that happen to us. Passing out while walking home? You dumb bastard. By the way, Passed Out Guy, that's a very nice pseudo hemp necklace you're wearing. Did you buy it at Abercrombie and Fitch? I thought so. Ass. When I first spotted you, Passed Out Guy, I was on my way to the convenience store. On my return trip home, I was hoping someone had arranged you in some crude sexual position that would bring laughter from the people passing by. Unfortunately, you were gone. Someone must have woke you up, Passed Out Guy. You should thank the people who woke you, but somehow I imagine you probably just cursed at them and continued stumbling down the street. Ass. In conclusion, I hope you peed your pants. I hope you puked down your shirt and went home to have all your roommates call you pathetic for being wasted on a Sunday night. I hope you forgot to take out your contacts, and awoke with them suction-cupped to your eyeballs, so you almost had to rip your eyes out just to remove the lenses. I hope you got chlamydia from a toilet seat. I hope you got a tattoo on your butt that says, "The Moonlighter, Fred MacMurray".
In the future, stay sober, Passed Out Guy. Stay safe. Abercrombie and Fitch needs business from suckers like you to keep them in business.
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