The stage coach naughty show
I took the bus to Northern Sweden today, again. This time I'm not at all as pleased about things, as I would much rather be cuddled up with Andreas. In bed. Right now. Warm and fuzzy and trying to avoid his nightly ninja-kicks to the crotch.
I sat on the bus for two hours before deciding to challenge the laws of gravity that do not exit at all in cramped bus toilets where you support your one hand with the door while the other one waves for your nether-regions to hurry whatever the fuck they're not doing. Even though there's absolutely no communication going on between any of your body parts right then. Your mind and your fingers under the running tap-water are trying to tell your bursting bladder to GOGOGO your bladder replies "You know, I'm just not feeling it anymore. What's my motivation."
And it's frustrating, because you know that a soon as you relax your muscles the bus will jolt and your lips will be planted on the toilet door. Bingo! Aids. Add this regular bus-toilet pressure to the horrible realization that the reason the lock is a simple hook-and-eye one is that the regular 10 by 10 cm lock has been torn out. Have you had time to pull down your pants before realizing this? Yes. Have you assumed the crouch position? Yes. Is your quivering shanoony hovering for the closest bus-rows to see, should they glance at the door? Oh god yes.
I figure that's why nobody told the buss-driver to make an announcement. It's not that they missed the gaping hole in the door after planting your ass on the seat. It's that if you share this information with the buss driver, or the next unfortunate sap who's about to expose his nuts & ass for the viewing rows, then you're pretty much admitting that you yourself also exposed your nuts-n-ass. The apologetic look in your eyes will give you away!
When you think about it, it was all pretty touching, in the solidaritish (IS a word) communist way. You get a potato, I get a potato. You get a russian doll, I get a russian doll in a doll. "You get to flash your privates, I get to...now, are you sure you didn't mean 'Porsche'."
As with anything, you just don't want to be the last kid on the block who gets a snazzy new car. You're always hoping that there's someone left, someone who will come after. And it wouldn't hurt if this person had a shaved shoonany and an embarassingly large labia. Please.
I sat on the bus for two hours before deciding to challenge the laws of gravity that do not exit at all in cramped bus toilets where you support your one hand with the door while the other one waves for your nether-regions to hurry whatever the fuck they're not doing. Even though there's absolutely no communication going on between any of your body parts right then. Your mind and your fingers under the running tap-water are trying to tell your bursting bladder to GOGOGO your bladder replies "You know, I'm just not feeling it anymore. What's my motivation."
And it's frustrating, because you know that a soon as you relax your muscles the bus will jolt and your lips will be planted on the toilet door. Bingo! Aids. Add this regular bus-toilet pressure to the horrible realization that the reason the lock is a simple hook-and-eye one is that the regular 10 by 10 cm lock has been torn out. Have you had time to pull down your pants before realizing this? Yes. Have you assumed the crouch position? Yes. Is your quivering shanoony hovering for the closest bus-rows to see, should they glance at the door? Oh god yes.
I figure that's why nobody told the buss-driver to make an announcement. It's not that they missed the gaping hole in the door after planting your ass on the seat. It's that if you share this information with the buss driver, or the next unfortunate sap who's about to expose his nuts & ass for the viewing rows, then you're pretty much admitting that you yourself also exposed your nuts-n-ass. The apologetic look in your eyes will give you away!
When you think about it, it was all pretty touching, in the solidaritish (IS a word) communist way. You get a potato, I get a potato. You get a russian doll, I get a russian doll in a doll. "You get to flash your privates, I get to...now, are you sure you didn't mean 'Porsche'."
As with anything, you just don't want to be the last kid on the block who gets a snazzy new car. You're always hoping that there's someone left, someone who will come after. And it wouldn't hurt if this person had a shaved shoonany and an embarassingly large labia. Please.
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