Booty and the Bus

Took the bus to my doctor in Chinatown today. Needed painkillers. I don't like drugs so I tried to avoid this for a couple days but had reached critical mass, and parking is sketchy there.

As soon as I sat down, a woman who must have weighed at least 350 squeezed her considerable bulk into the seat next to me and proceeded to overflow onto my thighs (yes, plural) with mounds of solid shifting masses of flesh. Mt. St. Helens on the Muni. Perfect when you're already in pain. I'm not big enough to withstand such major encroachment. My life was flashing before my eyes, including a lot of old Warner Brothers cartoons in which Bugs Bunny was mowed flat by a steamroller and popped up unscathed in the next frame. I always wondered how he did that.

Every time the bus lurched, she slammed into me again, virtually pinning me to the hard plastic bucket seat with her bulk and a large stroller she was holding, although there was no sign of a child. Uh oh. Ya gotta wonder where she lost it, and when she might notice. Of all the buses in the world, she had to waddle into mine.

When my stop came, I made several attempts to extricate myself from under the avalanche before getting free. By now, Kielbasa Thighs had huge mounds of endomorphic mutant flesh overlapping mine. That bus was seriously overpopulated with her on it.

After my appointment, I boarded another bus for home. This time, a family of tourists grabbed five seats in a row and began shooting water pistols at each other. The father, whose humongous backpack kept assaulting me, was shadow boxing with his kids, one of whom kicked at him repeatedly but got me instead. They were all eating salami sandwiches and belching. The salami breath in there was loud. The bus was so crowded that I couldn't disengage. I hadn't filled my prescriptions yet, so wasn't getting any comfort from them.

Across from us a bum lounged over two seats with his bedroll, wearing a filthy jacket open to reveal his hairy bare chest and stomach. He scratched his head incessantly and was throwing such a wake that the entire bus stank. A hundred people holding their breath at once. No doubt his last encounter with soap was before the Millennium. The LAST Millennium. He could have benefited from the water pistols. When he stood up to get off, his pajama bottom fell down to his ankles. His butt was hairy, too.

Hell in a handbasket just got a lot more accessible.

I really didn't think I could hurt much more, but that is never a safe assumption to make. So I'm home, medicated, and waiting for miracles, and lemme tell you -- I EARNED those painkillers.