Auditions Shall Proceed to Railcar #5
Three yellow steps up and at last, I am in.
How I do love the stuffy air and uncomfortable seating.
What have we for entertainment on today's commuter ride?
Why hello baby daddy on cell phone.
-Aww- look a newborn in arms,
certainly is enjoying that splendid one-sided conversation!
Fucking fuck fuckadocious fucker...
You don't fucking say?
I wonder if that baby's first word at Wal-Mart will be fuck, fucking or fucker
What will Ronald McDonald on the bench think?
Lil bundle of joy, future mullet man,
eyes crack baby bright...
gooing and gaaing and all befuckity.
Well, I suppose he won't care because
that still smile, will still be upright.
What a swell and uplifting chap.
This is really quite top pick; a railcar full of eccentric reality stars.
Audible for all, we have an inspiring pole dancer,
I makes some good damn money...
I'm not sure what amount that is, but it sounds promising.
Uh...what did she just say?
You know bitch gotta roll in it.
Not to pass judgment, but by it, I'm praying hand sanitizer
as it appears syphilis got a standing ovation from the clap.
That's right young lady, it's official, you're bravo +
What bosom bar did you work at again?
I shall petition Red Cross for vaccinations.
It's marvelous when one changes channels by the turn of his neck.
Currently on Channel Two-Seats-Down,
we have Slim-I-Hope-He-Doesn't-Produce-A-Baby.
Might I just say "word up" on that trendy sweated brown wife-beater,
and to hell with that lady in the commercials,
you know, the one that gets the dingies out...
And to your friend Pobre Suave,
I simply dig those booze rings around his eyes and tattoos necklaces.
Serious bling bitch.
Now I know that 70 year old woman next to you
in business attire, clutching her briefcase, doesn't approve,
but fuck her, fuck her indeed!
Frighten that ole wench with your gun talk, 22s and 45s woop, woop!
'N don't stop those Hail Marys sister, today you might just get capped...
I do hope that briefcase you're white knuckling contains a life support system.
Hmm, now what, I ponder, is that horrid smell.
Has my latte suddenly spoiled?
Oh, it's just Steve I-Sleep-Off-of-Irving.
Should have guessed by that cologne he's wearing.
It's either Obsession with Alcohol, or I Dior into Dumpsters.
I just can't tell.
Honestly, I admire him truly for his out of the box thinking.
Never once had I considered using the tram for an expedition or exploring.
I wonder, that newspaper print across his face,
is that a thrifty form of sun block?
Lately I been sun kissed, and feeling like a knock off Coach bag.
I must give it a whirl.
Well, been fabulous but this is my exit.
Wish I could have "hung out" longer...
but three yellow steps down and its "laytah."
Cheerio man with child, may the fuck be with you.
Don't ride it till you die from it pole dancer.
Godspeed hobo, do draw pictures for the documentary,
and stay on board little 50 Cents,
I do love you, but frankly, I don't want to have to run to my car and lock the doors.
Lastly, good luck old business lady...
should I see your obituary in the paper, I'll tell all,
she certainly could hold onto her briefcase...