I love the filthy Micks as much as the next guy stepping over their vomit along Fifth Avenue, really I do, but the antics have started already on the commute to work.

GF and I are on the bus, heading towards the subway, and we're standing near a guy in a wheelchair. Thankfully, it wasn't Shane McGowan, but he was scary nonetheless.

He had that slow creepiness to him, you know the kind. First sentence out of his mouth and he seems like a friendly guy. But ten sentences later, you're locked into a spiraling hell. Here is information he commented on during the five minute trip to 74th St Station:

* The snow sure came out of nowhere, huh?
* Look, over there, there's hardly any snow
* Crazy story bout that busdriver being stabbed huh?
* Whoever did it should go to jail
* They'll get what's coming to them downstate before they get sent upstate
* (after gf comment that they'll probably get shanked with a knife in jail)You're kinder than what I'm thinking will happen to him (with a knowing look)
* (to GF) you've got pretty hair
* I'm John (shakes her hand, holds on WAY too long so she has to pull away)
* I'm headed to the parade
* My friend Paddy works downstate, he works in parole
* Actually, Paddy's my parole officer
* (again) you've got pretty hair
* you were in the city huh? where?
* (as we get off a stop early) oh.. you're leavin? Have a happy St. Paddy's Day