The Big Blue Bus...is calling us...

Palmer here, reporting from the stinkin bowls of the big blue bus. Last night, I almost went postal with the stench, the stop and go, and the noise of our most beloved and infamous big blue bus, the one immortalized by jim morrision of the doors. And a side note here, Jim Morrison and the Doors are over played and over rated! If “Jim” (using quotes because our culture makes him bigger than he really was) could only could see the improvements! The big blue bus...is calling us...

Last night, Palmer in the Poo was close to making a huge scene; an ugly embarrassing roar of a fuss...on the bus. You know the kind, when you’re tired and frustrated and you yell at the uneducated and uninspired clerk at the 99 cent store—we know you Westsiders have nothing else to do, so, own up to it! Fools!

I’m sitting there, hot and sweaty next to the window. The bus is filling up and the air is dead. Every minute or so, a disgusting smell waifs across my left side reeking of halitosis and some other undefined funk. Thankfully the air circulates when we’re in motion but not enough for us to alleviate our feelings of being like roast chicken in the metal oven of the old number 12.

Pretty soon I spot trouble: an old lady of about 70 slowly walking by and seats herself across from me. The Chinese lady next to me is eyes closed and meditating. Om! Within a minute the old lady takes out her 90’s style slim cell phone and calls someone. You know what, blog readers? Every day I fantasize about hearing an elaborate and articulate phone discussion of anything, but instead, I always get the opposite: a hard of hearing old bitty yelling into her cell phone at a pronouncedly slow and slurred rate about something mundane. It’s excruciating! It’s painful, like being constipated and sitting on the toilet for twenty minutes; you legs fall asleep and you sit there, squeezing and squeezing until your eyelids become swollen and sweat forms on your chest. It’s so hot in that damn stall, that you have to open up your dress shirt and take deep, slow yoga breathes just to pinch that puppy out! Yows-za!

Everyone on the bus just starred at the old bitty. I was already plugged into the radio and my ear drums bled. The Chinese lady next to me concentrated w/ some Zen like composure while the stench, the stop and go and the noise ebbed and flowed like blood in a syringe left to drip on the sidewalks of Skid Row. It’s times like these when I yearn for the buses of Korea! So fast and efficient and clean and quiet. They are a quantum leap from the big blue bus jim morrision sang about stoned out of his mind forty years ago. Maybe if I lit up a big fat one, and passed it around, my bus ride improve. Until next time, this is the view from the poo, riding north to UCLA.