the self destruct button

it's not on the neck, or the small of the back, or even in a weird little enclosure in your skull...but it exists..and is activated mentally. This clandestine, life changing, fuck of a button that causes you to push any and everything you have away somehow is something I thought deserved to be spoken about and referenced here in this little piece of faulty wisdom and/or rantorrhea.

don't get all cynical now

The problem is that I basically altered my life last year in a way that some, or infact many might say, was for the worse. You get caught up travelling and witnessing all these people and getting back to normal, mundane routines without that feeling of urgency, that feeling knowing you inevitably have to leave.. you gotta move.

But anyhow, allow me to genuflect a problem I have.

As you know, from reading this collection of drivelly, offbeat, antihumour, I live in a pretty pathetic existence.

I've told you about my various "public transportation" blunders and how I live in a cockroach infested cesspool apartment, (it's cheap, it's on the lake, I can't complain..I don't deserve any better) and it's fair to say my life isn't one many would want to emulate, amongst other things.

Watching people frustrates me for the most part because I, as a fellow stupid person, can really spot their tells.

So with no further adieu, it is time for another "public transport" tale of inadequacy and failure. This months character will henceforth be put up on a pedestal next to Barney the Dinosaur in both intellectual and cultural significance.

"hiya kids, I had a one-hit ragequit from the childrens entertainment business"

So, today I was tired after work. I stand on my feet all day at my menial and dull job and then board a bus full of morons headed southbound to my grandiose apartment. I can usually be seen strutting towards the closest "single passenger" seat with my usual sense of delusional pride. All of this generic, near daily routine was occuring when a horrendous scene occured in front of me. My seat was quickly overtaken..or "poached" if you will, by some sort of life form collapsing into it from the side.

"sorry (GASP), need two seats, can't move, can't breathe"

I couldn't say anything..isn't this a handicapped person? I mean they're mobile (if you wanna really stretch the definition of the term) and they are people right...I'm not THAT big of an asshole...but it did make me think about saying something. Personally, I think the bus lines should implement those little bag check boxes they have at all airline check-ins.

this will be modified to allow fat patrons the chance to sit and measure themselves and in turn see if the size of their undercarriage will be accommodated by the seating plan.

Seriously. Let's cut that bag measuring thing we all know from airports and modify it with welding or some kind of harness. It can hang on the side of the schoolbus like those swing open signs that they have which fly off all spasticlike and tell us:

"STOP! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!! DO NOT PASS THE BUS!!"

THE CHILDRENNNNN

Let's cut some leg slots in there and fuck it, lets add patting for the fat asses that steel grid will have to endure. That bus pulls up to the stop..

1) Censors go off, a "subject requiring measurements" is approaching the bus.

2) Sit down.

3) If the ass doesn't fit you're not getting on the bus.

After the "warning siren" goes off alerting the passenger they cannot board, special buses will come pick you up so hardworking, tired shitheads like myself can park my "within dimension sizeable ass" in the seating available. Repeat offenders who constantly abuse the chair and receive "overmeasurements" should be banned from public transport.

Wait, that's a bit too fascist for my liking, cancel the last sentence.

Alright. This genuflection has left me tired and hungry.

Which reminds me, lets get rid of Google. People just say "google it" and in turn most people then do so..they usually have a damn laptop on in front of them... errr.. anyways..

If they didn't have Google I'd be right..

All.

The.

Fucking.

Time.

That's right..now..time for a beverage*.

* upon the receivership and exclamation of interest in sponsoring me and my inclination to drink beverages I will not disclose what I'm partaking in. Til the cheques roll in I'm not sayin'.