Mini-Rant: Buses

I take issues with buses.

Not the general concept, that seems fine; everyone gets on, pays a small fee and gets transported to a strange and far-away land like some public-transport version of the Wardrobe that leads to Narnia.

Unfortunately, this vision of how buses should be is not one shared by the Incubus known as Stagecoach. And no, I don't think Incubus is too grandiose or harsh a description; they seduce you with promises that are too good to be true, then turn around and fuck you in the arse, ultimately leaving you in a vague state of disappointment.

But, of course, it's not just the idea of buses which piss me off. No, it's the drivers, who in their ignorance don't even know the route, telling you "the bus does not go there" even though you got the bus from there earlier that day.There's nothing funny about that, it's just my truth.

And then there are the passengers. Some people are lovely, and just mind their own business. But when you're tightly cramped in like a dwarf at an anal orgy, it's hard not to find offense with everything. The smell of the poor, the stench of the old, and the cologne of that twat who thinks that the overwhelming pong of Calvin Klein can get him women, when his personality is evidently not working out for him. There's the fucker at the back, blaring his shit music like a retarded, and usually racist, Siren, trying to lure sailors to the back of the bus despite being a total cunt.

Buses.