Nothing Interesting Ever Happens To Me Anymore.

"Why hasn't Siren been writing anything for the site?" you've probably asked yourself six million times. "What happened to Siren?" you might be asking worriedly. Well, I'm here, and I assure you I'm very much alive. Even if it's a boring, adventureless existence.

Gone are the days of The Penis Guy, The Boss Who Smelled Like Ass, and The Homophobic Guy. Nobody humps chairs in my presence anymore. I never even see children behaving like satan spawn these days. Everybody's all smiles and polite greetings. Sure I run into the occasional idiot or have random odd conversations sometimes, but none of it warrants an article that would even begin to satisfy the Eville readers. I know you crave the detailed descriptions of idiocy and ignorance mixed with wicked Eville commentary that used to nourish your minds on an almost weekly basis. I can't give you that, thanks to all the idiots steering clear of my general area, but I suppose I can summarize a few of my brief run-ins.

At Walgreen's, a decrepit old man was trying to use a 30-cent coupon for shampoo that he'd cut out of the newspaper. The coupon was for Jewel-Osco stores, and not Walgreen's stores. The cashier very nicely said she couldn't accept the coupon, as it was a store coupon and not a manufacturer's coupon. "But this IS a store!" the man insisted. This went on for about fifteen minutes, no lie. The man didn't even have any hair.

On my way out of Walgreen's, a man getting onto his bike said hello to me. I said hello back. As I walked down the sidewalk, he rode up beside me and started making idle conversation. The important thing about this guy is that he talked like a muppet. He said everything in a tone that suggested he was hosting a children's television program. He said I could call him Mr. Bicycle Man, because "I LOOOOOOOVE bikes! ...and NO POLLUTION!" he said, as he rode off in a Northerly direction.

A man offered Snotty ten bucks if he let him smell his feet, but that didn't happen to me, so I guess it's not my story to tell, but at the very same intersection, a bum tapped me on the soulder, winked and pointed at me and said, "I like your style." Score.