I need to get out of this city. Washington, D.C., is filled with imbeciles, and I never fail to mutter "moron" or "idiot" or "fuckhead" under my breath whenever I pass an offending mongoloid roaming free. And believe me, they are everywhere. In the streets. On the subway. Some have even managed to infiltrate my apartment, on occasion.

But the biggest freakshows I've encountered have been on the Metrobus. Just the other day, my roommate and I hopped onto a bus heading towards Georgetown. Normally the ride is only 30 minutes, but due to the inexplicable number of mentally defective individuals on the bus that day, I knew it was going to be the most tortuous Metrobus experience of my life.

Let me begin by describing the three Rodes scholars that sat in their seats clutching 72-hour survival kits. Survival kits! This woman sitting next to them -- who, as I would soon find out, was equally retarded -- was totally mocking them for having the kits. They explained that the "terror level" (um, OK) was high. Should an incident of terror actually occur, these asshats would apparently live off their kits until help arrived.

First of all, those kits would not last 72 hours -- at least not for the fat-asses that were holding them. One bitch was so fat that she could probably scarf down the entire kit during her daily viewing of "General Hospital." Also, the food inside the kit was not exactly what I'd call "savory." I think I caught a glimpse of a Slim Jim. Barf.

Second, if you are going to be one of those paranoid freaks that wears a SARS mask whenever you leave the safety of your trailer park, at least be discreet about it. Not only will you avoid the condescending stares from sane and well-adjusted individuals such as myself, but when fucked-up terrorist shit actually does happen, the sane and well-adjusted individuals won't know to knife you for your 72-hour survival kit. In other words, don't sit on a high-risk Metrobus with a fucking survival kit on your lap. If we get bombed, the first thing I'm going to do is punch you in the face and steal your Slim Jims.

Third, the so-called "terror level" is the last thing you should be worrying about. Ironically, when walking the streets of Washington, D.C., you should be fearing your fellow Americans. Fuck the survival kit, bitch! What you need is some Mace and a shiv. There have been over 120 reported homicides this year, and the number continues to climb. Sadly, the District is home to thousands of gypsies, tramps and thieves; chances are that if you carried a survival kit on your person, it would get mugged from you anyway.

On a final note, let me just say that if Washington gets attacked, I would not want to reemerge 72 hours later, only to find a city that's even more tattered, dirty and chaotic than it currently is. And people are surprised when I say I hate D.C.