The Talented Mr. Ripley

The title refers to the submitting party, who had one hell of a day back in August. Let’s follow along….all photo captions are his:

My day began early when I met up with friends at Lenox Hill Hospital before one of them had a kidney removed. (It went really well – I know you’re curious.) While we were in the waiting room, we noticed this pig wolfing down a bagel slathered with shiny cream cheese. No, he wasn’t on a train, but he was mere feet away from this sign.
After my post-surgical friend swore at me and flipped me off in the recovery room (it went really well!), I took three trains to get to my office. It was lunchtime and there was a pig in every car.
First, on the downtown 6, this woman was deep throating a Quaker Oats Chewy bar.
Note that when she was not fellating her granola, she had clingy crumbs of it stuck to her face.
And whoops – she saw me snapping her pig pic right before I departed at Grand Central. Hello, healthy mama!
On the S train, this babe was fingering a bag of crumbs that had once been a muffin. You don’t need to tell me; I know you’d hit it.

 

The final leg of my journey, the downtown 1, began with a wave of noxious peanut stench as soon as I got on. Turns out there was a squirrel on board.

She had an old Duane Reade bag filled with peanuts in the shell, and she was madly scratching through the pile with her little paws, cracking nuts and popping them in her maw.
The weather just turned cool so she was already stashing them in her cheeks for winter. And she was throwing them in so fast my BlackBerry camera could only catch a blur of her paw.
You’d think some entitled New York parent would be shrieking about their child’s peanut allergy. And maybe they did – I was only on for a couple stops.
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2 responses to “The Talented Mr. Ripley

  1. Glad to see the posts. "Intense Falaffel Bite" was hilarious, but your fans demand more. MOAR.

  2. As the kind of curmudgeon who willfully spends Thanksgiving alone, I am genuinely grateful for the cheer Mr. Ripley brings me.

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