Dear Students: When you are on a crowded bus, look up from your phones, and when you see an older commuter on the bus standing, get up and offer them the seat! It is called being polite. It won't hurt you, and it might also make you feel good as the older person sits and you, with better balance, ride the next few stops. Also, a bit about bus-stop etiquette: the person who is at the stop first gets on first. If you get there after six people have already been standing around waiting for the bus, you are the seventh to get on, not the first because you moved the fastest or barged ahead. Again, it is called being polite! Try it, you might like it.  —Talkin' Transit

Fish odor syndrome is real and common. I'm so sick of the spread of misinformation out there. Everyone seems to think the fishy smell means bacterial vaginosis. Very rarely is that the case. If you smell like fish, it means you probably recently ate fish! I spoke with my girlfriends about this and they agree it happens to them, too. When you eat fish or seafood, it can take up to 72 hours for it to get out of your system.

So ladies, don't let uneducated idiots make you feel like there's something wrong with you. If you eat a whole pot of seafood chowder, you better cancel all your dates for a week. It's called science. Quit callin' women dirty and educate yourself. For your information, the smell comes back 10 minutes after a shower. There is no infection, itch or discharge. So shut up and plug your nose!
—Keep On Lickin'

Stop using the croaky voice! You people who use it sound like you're on your deathbed. It's like someone is pulling the words out of your mouths one at a time. It does not make you sound cool. You sound like a fool. The croaky voice is only acceptable when you're laying in bed just waking up.
—Hatethecroaky

To the mature, tight-assed white woman who had such a problem with me smoking weed away from the crowd at the Pride parade, that she had a walk-by altercation with me: Loosen up.

You're at a Pride parade, hun. Telling me it's "the law" then calling the cops on me was the lamest thing you could have done. The cop thought you were ridiculous, and I didn't get fined, because nobody follows those designated-smoking-area rules. I guess I mostly just wanted to shine a light on the irony of your white spoiled ass bothering a cop to come talk to a queer person at a Pride parade, wanting her to FINE ME. Remember, my people rioted so you could put that cute little rainbow on your face sweetie, we don't care much for the law.

Oh, it was super cute when you yelled "fuck off" after I wished you a happy Pride. Girl, seek help. I'm sorry there was no manager you could have asked to speak to and that must have made you very scared and angry. I suggest a CDB pen, it really helps with the anger.

Anyway, love you! Sage your whole soul please.
—Friendly Gay Tryin' To Get High In Peace

Every time I call up businesses they usually all have the same stupid voice greeting telling you to "listen carefully as the menu items have recently changed." Really? Who cares? You are wasting my valuable time. Just tell me the options and I will choose.
—Stop wasting my time

I couldn’t fathom calling you pathetic. How hurtful would that be? How deeply would it cut? I’ve never been in a place where I wanted to cut you that deeply.

Pathetic, maybe I am. When you roll the word around in your mouth it starts to lose its sharp edge, that same edge it sliced me with, and becomes dull. It’s not the word so much that offends me, it was how it came to be in my mouth, rolling around like it is. You fired it at me.

You know me too well to pretend the word would slide off me. Which is the worst part, you knew that word would unravel me, you wanted it to. You’re aware of the thin tethers that hold me to the world, yet you launched an axe at them just the same.

I know what you tried to do, to hurt me, to ease your hurt by throwing axes at my tethers. It worked beautifully. I was paralyzed by the pain it caused. That was what you wanted though, right? To know I can feel hurt and you can cause it? Well done; mission accomplished; a celebratory drink is in order.

Then, that’s a scary word isn’t it? What happens then, after? You’ve taken your vicious words off leash and let them attack—then what? What did you want? To know we’re both hurt perhaps. You couldn’t have expected to reunite after such an assault. No taking that back. Here’s the thing, you don’t know what happens for me.

You spit your awfulness at me, and I said nothing, I gave nothing. I am a fortress you can no longer penetrate. What you did hurt, deeply, and you will never know of it. Your only success was solidifying my fortress and burning away what remaining doubt I had about leaving you outside. My doubt follows me like a shadow, always present, at times the light makes it small. In the darkness of being alone it consumes me. You scorched it from me. I’ve never been able to do it before. Thank you.
—Fortress

Whenever I'm trying to diagnose myself online for some symptom or another, you will always read the same comments from blowhards on the web MD forums, always saying, "you should call your doctor and make an appointment."  No shit, Sherlock. Shut the fuck up!  State the obvious much?  I don't have time to make an appointment and run to the doctor for every little pang or stitch my aging body experiences.  Not to mention, my doctor is so overbooked, I have to wait on a wait list each time, by which time the symptom will likely be gone.  I am asking the internet and trying to figure it out for myself what it could be and I would appreciate it if these after-school special snowflakes would quit wasting my time with their cliched advice. You're a fucking waste of space! FUCK OFF. —Probably PMS

I was shocked and disgusted to hear about the vandalizing of 29-ish HRM bus shelters a couple of weeks back, with tons of broken glass to clean up and replace.  But isn't it time HRM started making bus shelters out of UNBREAKABLE material?  What about the plexiglass-type stuff they use in hockey arenas?  Also known as common sense. —Long-time transit rider

To the out-of-province "fans" who brought those asinine horns to the first women's basketball playoff game at the Scotiabank Centre on the 5th: you blasted them in a cacophonous chorus every time our Halifax team attempted to dunk the ball, succeeding in distracting them and putting them off their game (and irritating the hell out of audience members too). Your dirty tactics stank. But in the second half of the game, when the teams switched ends and they got as far away from you as possible, our girls hit their stride and won handily over you with a 20+ point lead.  As you "fans" realized you would never catch up, you stopped cheering your own team. When one of your girls dunked two free points (on some kind of foul), you didn't even applaud her! You sat slumped in your seats pouting and ignored your own hardworking team. When you get back to your own province, research and meditate on the meaning of mature, true sportsmanship. Maybe you'll have grasped it by this time next year—not that it'll do you any good: our home team girls will still kick your RED arses out of the court. —Varsity Basketball Fan

Elope???? Are you deluded? We weren't dating. We have never had any intimate contact. We were not even FRIENDS. You spent all of your time telling me how I was "emotionally and physically unwell" and "emotionally distant and cold." You are critical, rude and ignorant. I'm fit, healthy and well; you're covered in some incurable jungle fungus from Asia and suffering from pneumonia every other month. I am already in love with someone and you tried to convince me he was worthless. Move on please, not interested. —Little Bird