To the BATMOBILE

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

molesters and the enlightened.

Maybe its a superhero thing or I could be sorely mistaken, but everytime I seem to take the bus I seem to be the victim of unfortunate circumstance. These are the inconsolable confessions of my encounter with a dirty molester of an auntie (a dirty mollusc of an auntie would be a stretch of an imagination, even for one such as mine).

Goes without being said that I now bear a "shoot on sight" policy with anyone above the age of 65 - barring my father who would unfortunately be gaining membership to that special group of people in a year or two... or could already be in it, though I'm going with his age being 63 until I find out (again). Extreme, but when a 70-or-so year old lady was rubbing her elbow over your thigh under the pretense of making a phonecall (call me paranoid but I didn't hear anyone answering on the other end of the line), you too would be plastering yourself against the bus window pane fruitlessly trying to mouth "SOS" through the glass at fellow motorists who were either 1) too oblivious or 2) avoiding eye contact after drawing the conclusion that I was just another bus-taking madman (plenty of those around). My efforts only managed to draw the attention of a gurgling baby in an adjoining Audi who seemed more preoccupied showing me the contents of his nostrils.

There's no one to save the savior.

Edit---The above actually occuring on the 16th such is the remarkable speed of which I blog

As of this moment I face the unbecoming task of something I never thought I'd be forced to do - eat my words. Stuck standing in the nether regions of the bus (as experienced personnel would tell you, the worse area) without a handrail to hold on to and left clinging onto several presents I had only just proudly purchased, I all but crushed the 5 unfortunate souls neighbouring me on their ill-fated 36 journey. Desperately trying to avoid attention by drowning myself in a game of handphone "Midnight Pool" (a pornographic sounding name for an otherwise innocent game involving 2 sticks, a few coloured balls and heavily tattooed mustachoid men), I proceeded to caress a poor auntie with my bum as the bus driver displayed driving and coordination skills most commonly associated with corpses. I believe she got off the next stop. Butlerman sorry. Butlerman try not to do it again.

P.s.---Here's a rheteorical question for you. How hard is it for me to buy 4 presents. It makes me empathise with the Grinch really. My male model calves have been juiced after pacing up and down Orchard Road for three hours. And I only completed half my requirements.

TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 2:03 am
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