From: 01sybok@ac.dal.ca
Newsgroups: alt.peeves
Subject: Local Yokels and the Perils of the People's Cadillac
Date: 12 Oct 92 09:29:22 -0300
Organization: Dalhousie University, Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada

What a weekend!

	If there's one thing I truly hate, it's going home for holidays,
when going home means taking the People's Cadillac: the bus.

	Bus Peeve #1: the bus stop is eight blocks from my place. I'd
feel REALLY guilty about taking a taxi, in my present financial situation
(somewhere between destitute and spittin' distance of bankrupcy), so I have to
walk. With two fair size bags. By the time I got there, the pain in my arms
had left because my arms had gone numb.

	Bus Peeve #2: Even though the bus was practically empty, a blue
haired polyester queen felt the need to sit beside me and inform me
of how much I reminded her of her grandson. My usual tactic to avoid this
kind of silliness backfired. She walked down the isle and asked: "Is anyone 
sitting here?"

	"Nobody but the Lord," I said, with my best Jesus Freak imitation
expression (Jesus freaks have their uses; you can imitate them to drive people
away when you have to).
	"Oh, how delightful!" she said,"It isn't often you meet a young man
who believes anymore."

	You can imagine the flip flops my stomach was doing at this point.
Boy, had my plan backfired! Luckily, I had plan B in place, and she gave me the
perfect opportunity to employ said plan. "When did you receive your calling?"
she asked.

	I put on my best "Jesus freak about to go right over the edge" look.
(Oddly, it was almost the same expression I had worn when I convinced my
ex roomate that I was Satan... but that's another story.) Ripping off one
of my favorite passages from Twin Peaks, I said:

"I too had been touched by the devilish one. A tattoo here, on the left 
shoulder (at this point I slipped my shoulder out of my T shirt to reveal
my tattoo... it's a picture of an owl in an emerald circle, which is in turn
encompassed by a flame). I gave her my best psychopath smile, the one that 
once sent my roomate screaming to her room. "Ah," I said,"but when I saw the
face of God, I was changed. My name Mike. What's yours?"

	"Um, excuse me," she said, "But I prefer to sit near the front. I think
it's safer."
	"I daresay it is," I said, still maintaing the crazed smile.

	Unfortunately, I barely had time to gloat. We stopped in 
Pigshit Falls (well, it was some tiny little town whose real name is 
unimportant). A bunch of drunk, obnoxious rednecks got on the bus. "Oh, geez,"
I thought to myself "I'd have been better off with the polyester queen. 
At least she would have been fun to scare." The problem with rednecks is 
they're immune to mind fucks. This is because they don't have minds to speak of.

	One of the rednecks plunks his Dorrito-expanded ass down in the seat
next to me. I shall attempt to describe him, but I really don't think words
will recreate the horror.

	First, he smelled, and I mean badly. When I am not having a problem 
with hayfever, I have an excellent sence of smell. He reeked of beer, with a
not so subtle added bouquet of sweat and cheap cologne (Aqua Velva is my 
guess). The effect of this stench on my stomach was indescribable. I've
read posts in alt.tasteless about cannibalism that didn't bother me in the 
least, but after one whif of this guy, I wanted to chuck my oatmeal.

	His smell was his least offensive feature. His taste in clothing was,
how shall I put this, quaint. He wore acid washed denim from head to toe, and 
all of it was dirty; the kind of dirty you can only get from wearing clothing
for YEARS with minimal (if any) washing. He was wearing a cheap baseball hat
on his head (I suppose this is good, since it hid his matted, greasy hair).
He was wearing the hat the way yokels do. It was barely touching his head,
so most of the hat was raised over his head. The effect of this is difficult 
to describe, but the effect made him look like he had a huge tumor on the top 
of his head and he was wearing the hat to hide said tumor.

	He was also tremendously fat. We aren't talking a bit of a beer gut 
here; we're talking Ma-get-out-the-Electrolux,-we're-going-to-try-liposuction-
on-Buddy kind of fat. Since bus seats were designed to be the last word in 
comfort, if the last word in comfort were "anorexia", he positively oozed 
over the seat. For one horrible instant, I thought I was going to be absorbed 
into his body a la "The Blob". Luckily, after the Thighs of the Damned 
stopped, I had six whole centimetres of bus seat to myself. If I flattened 
myself up against the window, I could just barely avoid touching him.

	He got off the bus a hour and a half later (I have visions of the
bus rising six inches as he did), but I'll never forget him, especially
at 3:00 am after I've eaten too much rich food.

	!peeve: My folks gave me TONS of great food; I'll eat like a king
for at least a week.

Gotta run...
Mike 
	
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Obtastelessness: if *I* could suck my own dick like those porn stars, I'd
never leave the house...
							Charlie Lear
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