Retard on the MBTA

The Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority is the abysmal operator of the oldest subway system in the United States. Affectionately known as the T, it is a dark, dank, and vulgar-smelling series of tunnels, permanently unfinished construction sites, and dirty trains that screech gratingly beneath the streets of Boston.* It even went on a recent killing spree. Not a mass-murdering, psychopathic killing spree like the one the Los Angeles system just went on, but more of a “got drunk and accidentally killed a couple guys in a brawl down at the pub” kind of killing spree, which I suppose is pretty fitting for Boston. At any rate, I’d like to see Åke Nordensjö set loose on it.

I don’t talk much about Åke Nordensjö. This is because he is retarded and I don’t admire him. He is also completely bald and practically a midget in stature (but thankfully he isn’t a goddamned leprechaun). On the contrary, he is a Viking. A retarded Viking, but still a Viking. And he is goddamned hostile. His weapon of choice is the hockey skate. I have never figured out why this is, but I think it has something to do with an unhealthy infatuation with the movie Happy Gilmore during his adolescent years.

Anyway, my vision basically involves giving him a hockey skate and then ditching him on one of the subway trains somewhere central in the city. There would be a lot of red tape to cut through in order to make this happen, and this is unfortunate. As fate would have it, Åke is not normally allowed outside the walls of his compound without proper adult supervision, and my vision explicitly requires a certain lack of adult supervision. This is exacerbated by the fact that he lives in far away Sweden, so I can only imagine the layers of bureaucracy I’d have to wade through in order to get him released and transported 6,000 kilometers across the Atlantic.

But if the norns so decreed it, then I would relish the chance to take him to, say, the Park Street T-station, board a train with him hand-in-hand, and then duck out right before the doors closed. I’m sure he’d look at me through the window, utterly confused. But the confusion would soon diminish and he would relish this newfound freedom that I had bestowed upon him. Most likely he would run up and down the length of the train cabin, intermittently humping peoples’ legs and screaming “Doom!” at the top of his lungs. Passengers would naturally crowd together at either end of the cabin because no one likes being next to a weirdo on a grimy train. At the next stop, many would disembark.

Åke would react to this outpouring by trying even harder to garner some tender loving attention and devotion. He’d approach anyone left in the cabin, but his violent posturing with the hockey skate combined with the spittle forming in the corners of his mouth would only work against him. His berserker’s rage being mistaken for rabies, the metro police would finally be called and the brave few that had remained onboard would evacuate at the very first opportunity.

Feeling lonely and on the verge of crying, Åke would soon disembark himself and run amok in one of the stations, wielding the hockey skate above his head like a deadly toy helicopter. His reign of terror/annoyance would end only with the imminent arrival of the fuzz. He’d be tackled and possibly tazered, going down in a blaze of handicapped Viking glory right before his immediate deportation.

He’d be the Viking who would never, ever ride ‘neath the streets of Boston again.


*Perhaps filth and disgrace are not unique to the Boston metro system, but for comparison’s sake, just look at Stockholm’s T. It’s considered by many to be the world’s longest gallery of art. And referring to it as the T is no joke—as with Boston’s, Stockholm’s metro system is signified by a giant letter T, which is an abbreviation for the Swedish word Tunnelbana or, T-bana for short.


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