Pig Pigs

 So we’re on a train and a bunch of men appear. One of them leans casually against his penis and sneers at everyone on board while his harem of toxic masculinity go about checking tickets and reminding passengers on a soul level that terrorism is good. I do my usual thing of begrudgingly holding out my card. It doesn’t occur to me to ask why I must show proof of my right to be here, I’m too busy not making eye contact with the feral cunt in a uniform overseeing these activities like he’s watching a really good sexual assault.

These men are fucking pigs, I decide, once they are at the other end of the carriage. I start to yell at them that their presence on a wet and cold Easter Saturday night is not at all appreciated and I conclude my profanity laden rant with a, “Fuck you!” so we’re both clear that I’m swearing at them rather a lot. They quietly radio ahead and at the next stop two PSOs walk in through the door right in front of me. I wonder if this is a coincidence and just another harmless moment in a terrifying police state. Nope. The ticket pigs walk back to join the pig pigs and the pigs pigs start talking to the ticket pigs like they’re real pigs. They talk like there are no humans nearby and they talk about arrests they make like the people they arrest are some sort of animals, the fucking pigs.

I decide that a whole new incident is now occurring and I pipe up once more. I tell the big noting pig pig that members of the public feel really safe and are grateful when cops are telling tough guy stories. I tell them that they are doing a great job of making travellers feel like everything is fine. Before I know it I’m arguing with two cops, then two of the ticket pigs join in and none of them make any sense. They may as well be oinking and squealing. One of the pigs though is very good at communicating that he desperately wants to kill me, so when the other pig plainly asks me what my problem is, I calm things down by telling him I hate cops. 

I tell the cops I am a lefty and I have seen cops assault and sexually assault my mates so many times I’ve lost count. I tell them that cops pepper spray and tase and bash people in their own homes for no reason, they kill mentally ill people and they murder blackfellas all the time. I tell the cop to get another job. He tells me I have a chip on my shoulder.

I tell the ticket fucks about their sneering fuckwit mate and they say, “He’s my supervisor, that’s his job”. They are so married to the answer that they are all just doing their job that they use it for everything. You’re telling horrible arrest stories on a train full of people? “That’s our job”. You are staring down punters and terrorising them? “That’s our job”. 

This is actually the second time in just a few weeks that I’ve told cops I hate them, right to their face. Sure, there’s a feeling that maybe you’re about to die, but on balance I think the feeling I would have if I said nothing would be far worse. The thing is, I’m not talking to the cops, I’m talking to me and to the one punter who gave me a wink for being a- let’s face it- absolute fucking hero. Who gives a fuck what cops think? Keep up your suicide rate you pieces of shit, we all hate you.

Yesterday I may not have concluded on that note, but I just learned the Dalai Lama is a pedo, so no more Mr Nice Guy. Fuck everybody. xxx