More Shit Than You Can Shake a Stick at - A Faecal Tale of Tragic Transportation (977 hits)
Category: GeneralRating: 1.92 on 21 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by JoeyG <joe_green_2006.at.yahoo.co.uk> (View user info) at 2006-09-01 10:07:34 EDT
I used to be an advocate for public transport.
I used to preach that more people should use buses and trains to save the environment, and reduce traffic on our congested roads.
Until, that was, I had to use it myself.
My car broke down last week, and is still sat in the garage, waiting for the grease monkeys get off their asses and fix whatever the hell is wrong with it. In the meantime, I have had to resort to taxis to ferry me from place to place, but this proves rather expensive when you average 30 miles a day. So I have taken to getting around on the bus.
Not that I have any problem with buses in general. In theory, they are a brilliant idea, providing cheap, mass transport for chavs and single parents.
It's the people that you find on buses that cause the problem. Most are fine, and wouldn't kill you, as long as you don't make eye contact. But there's a certain breed of psycho that lives for buses. I'm sure they buy day tickets and hop from bus to bus, hunting out weak and vulnerable targets to prey on.
I'll give you a little example. The bus journey into work takes an indirect route, and therefore takes about 40 minutes to do a journey that's a little over 10 miles. Some sort of entertainment is required to make this time pass as swiftly as possible. An i-pod is good. A book is better, because it detracts you from reading the same advert for fungal toe cream treatment, over and over.
I'm sat by the window, and I'm working my way through Luke Rhinehart's 'The Dice Man', when the bus pulls up to a stop, and a middle-aged man gets on. The bus is fairly empty, and there are plenty of free seats. But he sees the big sign I must have been holding up that said "HEY, WEIRDO, PLEASE COME SPEAK TO ME!" and he plonks his butt down next to me.
I stay focused on my book, but out of my peripheral vision, I can see he's wearing a flat cap, a cardigan covered suspicious red stains, trousers of undeterminable material and, most concerning of all, odd shoes.
One brown loafer, one Doc Martin.
"Hi", he offers. "I'm Roger. Just call me Rog. That's short for Roger y'know?"
"Er, yeah, ok then Rog.........hi"
I go back to reading my book. I manage 2 more lines before he pipes up again.
"So, what're you reading?" I show him the cover of the book, and he nods knowingly, as if it reminds him of an old memory. I go back to my reading. For about 10 seconds.
"Is it any good?"
"Yeah, it's ok." Well, it might be, if I could get on and read it. Another 10 seconds pass, and I think he's going to leave me alone, but that's too much to ask from the bus psycho.
"What's it about?" I place the book on my lap, count back from 10 in my head, and take a deep breath. I'll give Rog a little snippet of conversation, and hopefully, he'll leave me be.
I give him the basic outline from the back of the book, and tell him a little about what I had read so far, and this seemed to satisfy his curiosity.
"And", I say, "I've just got to a really good bit, so I'll be carrying on to see what happens."
I manage about 2 minutes of silence, before he's at it again.
"Say, you wouldn't read me a passage, would you?"
"Um, I don't really like reading aloud, and I'm sure the other passengers wouldn't appreciate it either."
"Sure, it's no problem. You just hold the book on your lap, and I'll read it over your shoulder." He pushes the book down onto my lap, and budges up on his seat right next to me.
"Whoa! Hold on a sec, man, gimme some space! I'm not trying to be rude or anything, but I just wanna get on and read my book in peace. I'm sorry. I don't mean to seem funny, but just back off, dude."
He recoiled as if I'd shoved a cattle prod down his throat. He got up from his seat, sat directly behind me, and whispered barely audible threats for the rest of the journey.
".....I can find out where you live, y'know. You'll never know when old Rog might be calling in on you, oh no......"
All this meant than when I planned a trip to see my Aunt in hospital, I was looking forward to the 90 bus minute ride down to the coast with about as much hope as a black man on a rape charge.
I was travelling on Saturday morning, and I knew I should prepare in advance. I started the day with the biggest fry-up I could muster. I wasn't going to face this on an empty stomach. So I dished up sausages, eggs, hash browns, bacon, black pudding, mushrooms, beans, tomatoes and 2 pieces of fried bread.
"Hell yeah, Joey be a-feasting today", I murmured to myself as I plated up the goods. I know it's not the most nutritional way to start the day, but nothing gets you ready like a big cooked breakfast. I tucked in, and let the cholesterol do its worst.
Fully fed, I packed my survival kit:
- MP3 player, freshly kitted out with my latest downloads from Torrent Spy
- The Dice Man book
- 3 cans Red Bull
- Pepto Bismol & Nurofen (the previous night had seen a few beverages)
I set off to the bus station, and waited in the queue until the bus arrived. I was hoping for a nice National Express with TV's, but no such luck, not even a toilet on board.
I was one of the first on, and could pretty much sit where I wanted. I chose a seat near the middle of the bus.
Passengers continued to file on, and by the time it pulled away it was pretty much full. I had an elderly gentleman sat next to me, who was perusing a tabloid, so thought I would be pretty safe. I plugged in some tunes, opened my book, and we were on our way.
We hadn't gone far, when I noticed a strange smell. I turned down the volume, and tried to listen in to some other conversations, to see if anyone else had noticed it. It turns out they had. The people who had boarded just before the bus left had noticed the brown footprints, going up the gangway and stopping right at the feet of the guy sat next to me.
Once you've notice the smell of dogshit in the air, it can't be avoided. I tried to black it out and breathe through my mouth, but I still got a dose of it every now and then. It was wretched. It was next to me. And the guy whose shoes it was on didn't even seem to notice.
After 20 minutes or so, the guy pushed the little bell, signalling for the bus to stop. The bus pulled up, and Mr Shitfoot disembarked, taking his piece of canine crapulence with him. The aroma still remained, but with the source removed, the air was once again bearable.
Sitting in the seat in front of me, was a young mother, with a small child. She had folded the pushchair and placed it in the rack at the front of the bus, and little baby bunting was fast asleep on her lap. It wasn't long before the beautiful bundle of joy awoke from the land of nod and proceeded to yell his little lungs out at 90 decibels.
"Awwww, is you a tired little baby, yes you are, aren't you?" The Mother cooed the general baby remarks in an attempt to soothe the savage beast that had presented itself. But general soothing was not on the baby's mind.
"Awwww, has little baby gone and pooped himself? I think you have, haven't you? We better get you all cleaned up."
Now, I know that babies have to shit. And I know that they probably don't like sitting in the stuff either. Not until they grow up and discover fetishes, anyway. So, I know they have to be changed and cleaned.
Still, the words "time" and "place" sprang to mind. The "time" and "place" for changing a shitty nappy is not on a public transport vehicle that is crammed with passengers on a warm day.
The stench of pureed peas and carrots masqueraded itself around the bus, consuming every ounce of fresh air available, as the soiled garment was removed, and placed (still open) at the lady's feet. The bus accelerated away from a set of traffic lights, and the package slid under her seat, and stopped at mine. The fried breakfast was threatening a re-appearance.
"Oh, I'm sorry, could you just pass me that, I'll put it in a plastic bag."
As casual as that. She may as well have said "don't mind me throwing my kids shit around, say, I've dropped my wallet, can you get it for me?"
I looked out of the window, and grimaced, as I slid the crap parcel back under the seat with my shoe. How much shit can one guy take on one bus trip?
"More" was the answer, as I soon found out.
As we neared our destination, the volume of passengers decreased. I was left on the bus with 2 old people, a kid who appeared to be too young to be out alone, and one drunken female. I had noticed her during the journey, sneaking sips from a hip flask in a clandestine manner. Twice she had asked the driver if he could stop so she could get out and take a piss, but twice he said that he could only stop at designated places. She would have to hold it.
We were 5 minutes away from the hospital, and drunken lady was audibly straining.
"Oh god, I really gotta go, real bad........" she announced to the rest of the travellers.
The bus pulled up at the hospital, and she was out of the doors quick as anything.
As it turned out, she REALLY couldn't have waited any longer. As soon as she had cleared the vehicle, she hoisted her skirt up, whipped her knickers down and proceeded to piss on the pavement in a squatting position.
Me being me, I couldn't take my eyes off the sight. She had been too late. The knickers between her legs were full of viscous liquid excrement. Before I could laugh, the wind changed and I got the full force of a whiff of wastage.
There was only one thing that could have happened to pollute the concrete even more.
I should never have bothered cooking that breakfast.
User Reviews
Submitted by Lib (user info) at 2007-02-22 19:02:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Ahh thank you !
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2007-02-22 18:42:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
brill
Submitted by i_can_get_you_a_toe (user info) at 2007-02-22 18:31:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by homer42 (user info) at 2007-01-29 14:00:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-11-02 18:34:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Hilarious stuff here.
Submitted by nightshade (user info) at 2006-09-02 10:01:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
shit
hahaha
Submitted by Maltese (user info) at 2006-09-02 09:38:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHHAHAAHAAHHAAH
+2 for the title alone, kid.
I REALLY like your stuff.
Submitted by littledan (user info) at 2006-09-02 08:23:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Plus motherfucking two!
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2006-09-01 16:03:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Hahahahahahahahaha
Not bad for a newbie. You'll do okay on here.
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2006-09-01 13:40:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Ah yes..how I don't miss having to depend on Public Trasportation on a daily basis. SEPTA, here in PA..or "SEPTIC", as some like to call it.
Every day was an adventure in people watching.
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2006-09-01 13:33:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
www.poopreport.com
Submitted by UnderOathMeal (user info) at 2006-09-01 11:27:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-09-01 11:03:06 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by UnderOathMeal (user info) at 2006-09-01 10:37:24 (#)
Ranking: 0
Well at least you're an expert on *something*. Guitar technique just isn't it.
=o)
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sweep picking only counts when it's over more than 2 strings, and when it's fluid motion, you weren't sweep picking
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You say potato, I say po-tah-to.
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-09-01 11:03:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by UnderOathMeal (user info) at 2006-09-01 10:37:24 (#)
Ranking: 0
Well at least you're an expert on *something*. Guitar technique just isn't it.
=o)
-----
sweep picking only counts when it's over more than 2 strings, and when it's fluid motion, you weren't sweep picking
Submitted by congo (user info) at 2006-09-01 11:00:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
It's been a while since I've +2'd a decent shit post.
Submitted by UnderOathMeal (user info) at 2006-09-01 10:37:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-09-01 10:20:57 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by UnderOathMeal (user info) at 2006-09-01 10:12:44 (#)
Ranking: 1
In Atlanta it's called MARTA.
Metro Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority.
... and while the ride is decent and relatively cheap, the passengers are often downright intrusive.
--------------
Don't I know it baby, two years ago I had to write a 4000 words on MARTA during the atlanta olympics, for a subject I can't even get credit for, did you know they had to import buses from other states to cope with the increase of passengers? I bet you didn't, but I do, I'm an expert on the subject
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Well at least you're an expert on *something*. Guitar technique just isn't it.
=o)
Submitted by UnderOathMeal (user info) at 2006-09-01 10:35:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by sicosemen (user info) at 2006-09-01 10:19:50 (#)
Ranking: 1
Oath, I thought you took off.
======================
Check the goodbye post again. Reviews section.
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-09-01 10:20:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by UnderOathMeal (user info) at 2006-09-01 10:12:44 (#)
Ranking: 1
In Atlanta it's called MARTA.
Metro Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority.
... and while the ride is decent and relatively cheap, the passengers are often downright intrusive.
--------------
Don't I know it baby, two years ago I had to write a 4000 words on MARTA during the atlanta olympics, for a subject I can't even get credit for, did you know they had to import buses from other states to cope with the increase of passengers? I bet you didn't, but I do, I'm an expert on the subject
Submitted by sicosemen (user info) at 2006-09-01 10:19:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Oath, I thought you took off.
Submitted by sicosemen (user info) at 2006-09-01 10:19:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I smiled, but I didn't go overboard with laughter. Appropriate rating, good post.
Submitted by The_Mighty_Badger (user info) at 2006-09-01 10:18:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by UnderOathMeal (user info) at 2006-09-01 10:12:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
In Atlanta it's called MARTA.
Metro Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority.
... and while the ride is decent and relatively cheap, the passengers are often downright intrusive.