At Large Hell, Thy Name Is Greyhound!
posted by July 20 at 15:05 PMon
Hello, everyone. I am desperately sorry for the light slogging lately, but I’ve been quite gone on a wee little trip. I regret to have been away. And God forgive me, I donít know why I agreed to go away, in the way I went away, in the first place. I canít understand what the fuck came over me. I clearly wasnít in my right mind. Iíll probably regret it forever. And ever. And ever.
My ďboyfriendĒ who is supposed to “love me” or something (ha!) decided a few weeks ago that it would be a novel notion to pursue an adventurous excursion via (Shudder! Gasp!) the goddamnmotherfucking BUS. He thought a bus trip would be ďfunĒ. Fun!
Indeed, I said the goddamnmotherfucking BUS, by which I mean GREYHOUND, by which I mean HELL on EARTH on WHEELS. I can barely bring myself to talk about it. My nervous system hasn’t even begun to digest the experience, and frankly, it may never fully do so. And therefore, for the sake of the shreds of my remaining mental health and faith in mankind, Iím compelled to vomit some of the story up here for you. Iím sorry. I have no choice. Itís a compulsion. Itís necessary. I canít stop myself. I have to heal, somehow.
Lucky, lucky you.
But (and youíll thank me later!) I have kindly boiled the entire 14-hour-long-sitting-bolt-upright-in-a-rolling-metal-death-tube-full-of-convicts-methheads-and-sociopaths-that-smells-like-an-alcoholic-catís-ass experience down to a few simple bullet points, rather than provide the world with an exhaustive and detailed point-by-point report. This is for your own good. Trust me.
However! Please note! A quick little disclaimer, to avoid any confusion before we begin: I do not travel via Greyhound, damn you, Iíve never done so before, and you can bet your sweet fannyís ass that the temporary lapse in judgment that compelled me to do so will never, by God, NEVER, happen again. It was a dreadful mistake. A one-time-thing. I may never be the same. Somebody hold me. I beg you.
Also! Before we go off to the simple bullet-pointed list of What I Learned on Sitting Up for 14 Hours on a Fucking Catís-Ass-Stanking Greyhound Bus, I have to get this off my chest, and I want to get it just right before my mind successfully represses it foreverÖ
ďI just want to say that itís only by the grace of God Almighty that anyone gets anywhere, and itís the men and women fighting for this country thatís the only thing holding this nation together.Ē
Yes, thatís how it went: a little rambling and disjoionted 3-AM public service announcement from our lunatic Greyhound driver forced upon his captive bus-bound audience. Amen and hallelujah!
Fuckety fuck fuck fuck.
Okay, here we go:
9 Terrible Things I Learned On a Goddamnmotherfucking Greyhound Bus
1) Everyone who has ever been to prison is compelled by forces beyond our understanding to tell everyone else all about it, all the time, at a volume of twenty million decibels.
2) Everyone on Greyhound has been to prison.
3) There is no such thing as quiet crazy.
4) It is completely appropriate, even expected, to scream things at the driver like, ďItís about fucking time!Ē and even more appropriate for the driver to respond, ďFuck you, too!Ē and then rant about Jesus.
5) The words ďniggerĒ and ďfagĒ are alive and well and thriving without a trace of irony.
6) You could be Osama Bin Laden, carrying a nuclear bomb up your ass and a dead hooker under each arm and nobodyís going to check your ID.
7) There is such a thing as The White Trash Gene.
8) For some, relish is a meal.
9) There is no hope for mankind. Not. A. Shred.
Well, whatever. Itís still marginally better than flying, I guess.