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Half-Marathon Chick: I’m not a big fan of the marathon, and the people who need to prove something to themselves and get that picture with the tin-foil poncho being put over them at the finish line, but whatever. What I really don’t like is the way the marathon shuts down the city. It’s even worse when it’s a half-marathon. Everyone reading this could complete a half-marathon. If your car broke down 13.1 miles from civilization, do you think you’d just impale yourself on the hood ornament? No, you’d just walk that half-marathon. A lot of people doing the half-marathon are walking it anyway. To them, I ask, would you brag to someone that you climbed half of Mount Everest, or that you were playing hoops and you went to the one-and-a-half point stripe and drained one, or that you grabbed half a boobie? If you have something to prove, lock yourself in your apartment and don’t take a shit for two days. That’s way more impressive.

So, Natalia, if you become one of those ladies with the “13.1” bumper sticker on your Subaru please drive it 13.1 miles away from me and never look back.

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Slow Crosswalker: I was in San Francisco, ru

Then I thought about it on a bigger scale. People in general don’t cross the street well anymore. It used to be a sprint, followed by a shoulder roll, then pop up to finish the sprint and stick the landing on the sidewalk. Because when we were kids, people had horrible old drum brakes, and were drunk, so the chances of you getting clipped by a Buick were pretty good, if you weren’t hustling. Nowadays, people aren’t frightened. They’re not scared.

Here’s my solution. I think that everyone between the ages of seven and ten should get clipped by a car just once. I’m not saying run over by a dump truck and put in a coma, just enough to give them the proper amount of fear for the rest of their life. Like the person who gets bitten by a dog at age three, and then is scared of them into adulthood. Parents: Just put your kid in the driveway sometime around second grade, back into them and, when they’re writhing in pain with their femur coming out of their ass, you say, “Doesn’t feel good, does it? Sure would hate for that to happen again.” They need a healthy respect for the automobile. It’s going to save their lives and it’s going to save me time.

This may not be too much of an issue for you, Natalia, being a honky and all. This slow-crosswalking is the domain of the brothers. I think it’s a subtle revenge for slavery and racism. As if to say, “I’m taking my time, Whitey.” I’ve always found it ironic as I watch the big brother amble across the street, that the world’s fastest men are the world’s slowest pedestrians.