Doginawaistcoat.com

I sit here sweating in general sadness. My ninja themed Covid facemask adorns my greying features, disguising my grimace to the woman in front of me who has obviously been wearing Wilkinson blades for flip flops for the entirely of lockdown.

Not enough plasters in this world could cover that slashed cinema screen of a foot. Like a tattered flag. Anyway, the entire point here is that she is but a player in the stage show that is ‘the bus’.

Too many people duck their head and lose themselves in their phone/book. Not me. I wanna see everyone for who they are and unfairly judge them, like the piece of shit I like to be.

I don’t only look at people’s feet by the way. I’m not weird or anything…

Well, I am weird, but in many more ways.

The bus is host to a plethora of people from every level of life. Also possibly some aliens. Really, really ugly aliens. I once saw a fly land on a woman’s face, and throw up. I think it died.

I know just how judgemental and mean I sound. I’m also relishing it. I’ve written for websites for a while and been restrained, but here I can say whatever I like! YOU CAN’T CONTROL ME!

Anyyywayyyy, this bullshit won’t type itself.

At the time of writing this there is a mother with two children behind me. She is obeying the bus rules of ‘The Rona’. Her children, are not.  These vile fucking loin goblins of hell are doing anything in their power to make this journey as painful as humanly possible. Their obviously long suffering Mother (I’m assuming biological, as you wouldn’t order these shits in) has given up on any sort of parenting.

From a quick turn of my my head, I can see that the fanny devils have drained her of any sort of thoughts. As one child of the corn stands in the middle of the aisle and just downright SCREAMS, the husk of a woman offers “If you don’t stop, I’ll get the man to turn the bus round”. You bloody won’t witch, I’ve come out to get some Seal Bars.

You may mock, but you know you wanna try one.

On the upside, my dual layered facemask not only protects me from the fancy flu, but also masks me mouthing “for fucks sake” over and over.

Sadly it doesn’t mask the pungent musk from the man in the opposite seats. There’s always a stink bomb on the bus, and they always find me.

I know the smell is coming from him as he has a well used Woolworths carrier bag, AND his fingers are an unusual yellowy brown. Fuck knows which Roald Dahl book he’s from. Whichever one it is, I hope it’s not a scratch and sniff edition. At least you can’t sit directly next to each other at the moment. I’d rather be finger blasted by Edward Scissorhands.

Being fair, he might have some sort of problem. Maybe he can’t afford Lynx Africa (does Africa have Lynx England?). Maybe he can’t raise the funds to pop a bottle of Vosene in with the weekly shop. I’d run with this, if I couldn’t see the 8 cans of cider and bottle of Famous Grouse popping out the top of ‘le sack de Woolies’. I was never great at French. It’s an uphill struggle with English.

Anyway, I’ve reached the wonderful world of Aldi. So I’m gonna get off this here steel petri dish and become nonjudgmental again. Anyone want anything fetching? Pint of Quixo anyone?