#16: The Ladies' Man

This inbred turd was apparently gunning for some McLovin' on his way to Jersey.  With his thick accent (read: drunken, Southern slurs), it’s hard to make out most of what he’s saying, but here’s what I could make out:

 “…some Pepto Bismol…and when I get there we’re gonna dance the freak dance…and later on we might end up doing something [inaudible]. I’m just playin. “

First of all, why is it that drunk people are very LOUD? Is it to compensate for the absolute lack of clarity? While it doesn’t sound it on the video (bear in mind the bus is obnoxiously LOUD, what with all the other drunks cackling loudly), I can assure you Cotton-Eyed Joe here was so loud, Helen Keller could’ve heard him.

Second, it should be noted that Mr. Git 'Er Done also had a tattoo of Bob Marley, which the woman standing and encouraging (read: talking) to the ladies’ man caressed and shouted approvingly. Now I love me some Bob just like anyone else, however, this guy and Bob Marley would be like Courtney Love sporting a tat of the Mensa logo.

Lastly, (and most importantly) nothing says loving like digestive-aid liquid and whatever in god’s name the “freak dance” is. I mean, he may as well have said he had anal leakage…in a hot tub. 

151 more to go!

#15: Magellan by guest blogger, "Dandy Rider"

While I do ride with enough fucktards to warrant this blog, there are a few riders who I can actually get on board with. This rider is not only one of the best dressed people I have ever witnessed in my life (and I work in fashion when I'm not lambasting 167-ers), but, also, I can truly say that this rider's rapier wit is just as sharp as their style. I am, therefore, honored to introduce you to, Dandy Rider, our guest blogger. Hopefully, this is just the first of many Dandy blogs to come. And, without further adieu, Dandy brings you, "#15: Magellan":

Could it be? The day where I have a seamless commute?  I’m out the door on time.  It’s not sweltering, no monsoons. The gills I’ve developed from all the goddamned rain are finally closing up.  Sure, the bus is a little late, but no one is on. Is everyone else on vacation?  We cruise down the main thoroughfare, which usually has as many stops as Charlie Sheen has genital herpes lesions, but amazingly, there are no stops.  No one on, no one off.  HEAVEN!  Mind you, this is the longest of the routes, the 167 local. 

Once in Teaneck, though, we stop to pick up three Orthodox families and all the kids.  In other words, it’s a synagogue up in there. Apparently, we ’kin do it because we are all carrying iced coffees or Coolattas (or whatever the fuck they serve there these days). So much for no drinks or food on the bus…

Even still, I'm happy.  Sure, some of the kids don’t want to sit next to the other, and some asshole is having a very loud job interview on the phone, but, hey, times are tough.  Maybe if he lands the job he’ll drive to work and get off the bus.  Fuck the environment, I just want a peaceful ride to work.

My mind drifts off for a minute when I hear a collective groan from the masses.  Having not been paying attention, I look around, not immediately recognizing where I am.  Hey, this isn’t the Turnpike! We can’t be going on Route 80 West! Oh, but we can. 

Now, remember, since I was lost in bus nirvana I was not paying attention in the least, so I don’t know if there was a detour or something, but I am aware that this is NOT good.  The now very nervous driver gets off in Hackensack and seems a bit frantic and disoriented.  Trying to be helpful I loudly say, “Go into the jughandle, and back onto Route 80 East.” For those who aren’t aware of the pleasures of Garden State driving, you should understand that New Jersey was built by some dyslexic contortionist with  a bad sense of direction. There is no reason why a sane person should be forced to drive three miles out of the way, looking for U-Turn signs to go back, but that’s not the driver’s fault. That’s just the masochism of New Jersey civil engineers. But I digress. The driver shouts back, “I know exactly where I am,” only to proceed in the wrong direction — far, far, far away from where we needed to go, and, instead, into…a strip mall.

Oh, I’m dead serious! And, instead of staying on the perimeter, he wants to go joyriding up and down the lanes. I can barely get up and down those things in my SUV without having some frantic senior with macular degeneration running into me, so I’m curious to see how this douchebag is going to manage this.

Needless to say, NOT well.  We are now landlocked by the dammed parking lot islands in front of Taco Fucking Bell. Yo no quiero Taco Bell. Yo quiero to get to fucking work sometime TODAY. Now the Hadasa bus is getting a little nervous. First, I’m willing to bet the driver's left nut that Taco Bell isn’t Kosher, and second, all those fucking Coolattas have been slurped down, and now there are a bunch of little dreidels who are spinning, gotta pee, and want off the bus. Me too!

After going back and forth a gazillion times and making some illegal left turns, we are finally back on the road, and we somehow miraculously manage to get to the Port Authority only an hour late.

I had the perfect picture of the driver looking panicked in the rearview mirror with his name placard directly above, but, instead, got a photo of a bald spot when the guy in front of me waddled into frame.

Needless to say, it was not the perfect morning commute, but there’s always tomorrow…

—Dandy Rider

Editor's Note: It's imperative to note that on the day that Dandy was on the Taco Bell bus, Gidget, the famous Taco Bell chihuahua died. Make of that you what you will...RIP Gidget. 

#14: The Back Seat Driver

I dread — dread — taking the last bus out of the Port Authority. It's just filled with drunks and the biggest social retards the 167 has ever chauffeured. It becomes like the 167 of the 167.

This guy is the KING of all 167-ers, the Sultan of Stupidity, the Messiah of Mental Midgets, and a testament to the fact that everyone can find someone cause this dude is actually married. 

He always, always sits in the front seat, which, you know, I get it. I love the front seat, too. But I mean somehow this dude is also magically the first guy on the bus always. It's as though the white horse of the bus pulls up, but instead of Prince Charming, it's holding his illegitimate, one-eyed, drooling, guffawing dumbass brother, whom the family locks away when anyone visits. He is self-designated as the bus host/tour guide since he's always leaning forward when people board, checking everyone out, ready with a quip, anecdote, or jab.

Guess what, Captain Asshole? Nobody asked for your opinion.

If someone asks the driver a question (and believe me, at that time of night the questions run the gamut from, "Can I carry this plant on here?" to, "OK so you don't go to Ridgewood, but would you drive me there anyway?") the Back Seat Driver answers for him and he totally gets off on knowing the answers, too. I know. I practically heard him jizzing in his pants in this video below. No shit, moron, the help person really carries a clipboard? How is it possible that you're not a fucking rocket scientist?

As if that wasn't bad enough, homeboy won't shut the fuck up once the doors close, either. He proceeds to regale the bus driver with the minutiae of his sad, worthless little life — loudly. 

Nobody gives a fuck.

I now know all about his son's dating problems (he can't get any) and how nobody appreciates him at work (at NASA, no doubt). Truth be told, based on what he was telling the driver, I believe his son is probably a raging, rainbow-and-unicorn-loving, Cher-adoring, meatpacking-is-more-than-a-district, closeted homosexual. But his father will either never figure this out, or he'll never admit it. He's just convinced his art-loving, Broadway-afficionado of a son is just too "shy" to meet girls.

It makes me want to yell at him, "RICHARD SIMMONS HAS HIT MORE VAJAY THAN YOUR SON!"

I really hate people who can see, but are blind. 

153 more to go!

#13: Israel Kamakawhydidthisparentsdothistohim?

Somewhere over the rainbow, Israel never got to meet his doppelgänger:

#12: Yo Mama

I was on the last bus out of the Port Authority in the wee hours of Saturday morning when I rubbed my bleary eyes raw in order to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.

This chicken fried Charo squeezed onto the bus with her daughter (the pubescent one standing and talking on the cell), and they proceeded to CliffsNotes their magical, whore-iffic evening together.

I would’ve paid more attention to what they were saying, but I was too hypnotized by the blue light hanging between the mother’s saggy breasts, which were threatening to poke out the eye of the dude sitting next to me. He wouldn’t have minded, though. He was so loaded he probably wouldn't have even noticed if one smacked him upside his bald head.

I know it must have looked like I was trying to burn a hole in her chest, but given the woman’s age I could've sworn that was Heart of the Ocean dangling between her tube socks filled with bowling balls. It wasn't. I was so disappointed when I [finally] made out the Coors Light logo on the pendant, but then it naturally begged the question as to how many times the grandmother mother had heard, "I'd like to taste your Rockies."

I was about to inquire that very question (what? I have a healthy curiosity) when Dina and Lindsay rang the bell for their stop. I then promptly left my mother a voicemail berating her for not exposing herself and accompanying me out to clubs wearing remnant curtain fabric from the Persians' dumpsters and a Coors Light light-up necklace atop her buh-bies. 

Sheesh. We'll see what Mother's Day gift I get her next year.

155 to go!

BONUS BLOG: The Crazy, Retarded, Racist Cross-Eyed Woman Returns!

Let it be said that every single 167 Short Bus blog entry is reported accurately and without exaggeration. They are all wonderfully freakish situations that happen entirely on their own, without any prompting from myself. That said, there are moments (as I am human after all) where I can't help but nudge a little incident, but let me assure you that it is all for the benefit of you, my good reader.

This is one of those instances:

I get on the bus yesterday. I am literally the last one on. I have to sit aaaaalll the way in the back. When we get to the first stop, the bus clears out so I move up because Rosa Parks was the shit and paved the way for me to be able to do so. Anyway, after I settle into a seat near the front of the bus, I’m enjoying a relatively quiet ride when I hear, “PUT THE ARM DOWN!” followed by a thwack! I look in the direction of the commotion only to see…

…CRAZY, RETARDED, RACIST CROSS-EYED WOMAN! (click hyperlink for reference)

Yes, she was sitting in the front row in the window seat. She apparently did NOT like it when the person who was sitting next to her (on the aisle) got up without putting the arm rest down. Which arm rest, you ask? Was she upset that the one between them remained in an upright position? No. No, folks, the Crazy, Retarded, Racist Cross-Eyed Woman was actually pissed that the guy who had been sitting next to her (yes, he was black) put his arm rest up — yes, the one on the aisle, and, therefore, furthest away from CRRCE Woman — and didn’t put it down.

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! (0:08 in)

This is what I would call a golden opportunity. ::big shit-eating grin::

I move up to the seat next her. Right away, I put my arm rest up. I get the video camera on my phone ready.

::big shit-eating grin::

I ring the bell to get off at my stop. I stand up. My ass is not even entirely off the seat when the cracktard that she is, reaches over and slams the arm rest down, all while giving me the cross-eyed stink eye — which, as you can imagine, is very attractive.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get capture any of her expression, but you can clearly see her arm slamming.

What I want to know is: how can the cross-eyed bitch even see that the arm rest is up? Her peripheral has to suck, right?

I may be going to hell, but she's coming with me.

#11: Jerky Boy

Watch the video below. Note how many times you hear the squeaky sound of the pedal. Gives new meaning to pedal to the metal, doesn’t it?

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “So what? The dude rode his brakes a little. Maybe he was sitting in traffic and didn’t want to speed up, slow down, speed up…”

No.

The sound you hear over and over again in the video? That’s the sound of the GAS pedal, my friends. Do you know what happens when you depress the gas all the way, take your foot of the gas entirely and then depress the gas pedal again sequentially like that?  The result is a ride akin to sitting on of those mechanical rocket or pony rides for children that are usually outside of supermarkets . Super jerky.

I know homeboy is probably used to driving a rickshaw or something, but seriously, the gas pedal has a lot of room in between "all the way to the floor" and "completely off the gas." If you want a smooth ride, all you have to do is ease your foot halfway up and idle somewhere in the middle. Of course, this is all assuming you can reach the pedal in the first place, which I believe was part of his problem. Because he couldn't entirely reach the gas, he had to essentially "jab" at the gas pedal, resulting in a ride that feels like you're getting rammed in the ass by a nine-ton behemoth. 

It just made me wonder what else he likes to poke at in a less than appealing way...

156 more to go!

#9 and #10: Your Parents

Dear Baby X,

I saw you when you were just a glint in your father’s fly.

It was mid June, late on a muggy spring night. I was waiting for my bus at the Port Authority. I was bored and, there, across the way, I saw them: your parents. They were young, reckless, and obviously inebriated. I was impressed by their perseverance in remaining upright. In some ways…your father more than your mother…

Your father had your mother pinned against the wall. I never knew that the human tongue could travel that far down another’s esophagus. Perhaps this is a talent you will possess as well. One can only hope.

Your mother was groping at your dad’s khakis, which seemed to get tighter the more they made out. It’s a wonder of science that his pants didn’t split. See what a miracle you were conceived from?

Other people were watching, but trying to look like they weren’t watching. Your parents can sure put on quite a show! They could’ve charged admission.

In approximately nine months (or, if your mom doesn't lay off the booze, perhaps sooner), your parents will meet up again, each with their respective new boos in order to curse witness your entry into the world. Here's hoping that all of your parts are where they should be and that you don't have to ride a short bus for the rest of your life. That last sentence will make more sense to you once you learn about birth defects in school...

So, Baby X, I just wanted to present you with a picture of your moment of conception. Not many people get to see this. If not for your parents' skankiness, I would not be able to give you this precious, precious gift.

Sincerely,

A fellow passenger on the 167

P.S. 157 more to go!

**Illustration (arrow) done by Ryan Haase. Thanks Ryan!

 

 

#8: It's Pat

No, really! It drives my bus:

#7: Who You Calling "Bitch"?

You know your day is going to suck when you get called a bitch before 9 AM.

So this morning, I’m loving life cause, well, it’s Friday and I got fun plans later tonight. I hop aboard the short bus without a care in the world.  I plop down next to this woman whom I’ve noticed before largely because when she listens to her music it resembles the onset of Parkinson’s: little tics here and there. She doesn’t full-on bop, mind you, no, she does one head nod every 20 seconds or so. It’s unnerving.

All of a sudden I hear Jamie Foxx’s whiny scream:

“She giiiiiive me mooooney!”

What the—?

“When I’m in neeeed!”

I turn to my left. Yes, the woman is full-on listening to her music and I can hear EXACTLY what she’s listening to.

“Go ’head girl, go ’head get down!” Kanye West’s voice is crystal clear.

So I get up and move across the aisle to avoid listening. I mean, I love Kanye, but I’m not trying to hear him via earbuds the size of a midget’s nipples when they’re not in MY ears.

All of a sudden I realize that you can actually hear every song this woman is listening to. And by now, I’ve moved across the aisle so there’s an aisle AND a seat between us. And the bus is LOUD. I mean between the shocks, the poor insulation and the groaning massive engine, it’s like being stuck in a box with Monica Seles and Chynna scisorring (let me apologize now for that mental image).

So I lean across the aisle and I say (very politely), “Excuse me, would you mind turning your music down?”

She just stares at me blankly. I take that to mean, "yes."

Two minutes later:

“Iiiii’m every woman! It’s aaaall in meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

ARE. YOU. FUCKING. KIDDING. ME?!?!?

Now, don’t get it twisted. I’m down with Whitney. It sure as fuck is all “in her” and then some (except when she’s in rehab), but for the love of god, I don’t want to hear her like that. Hasn't she been through enough?

So again, I stretch across the aisle, “Uh could you turn it down again?”

The woman looks over at me, “You can hear THAT?!?” with an attitude.

“Yeah, you’re listening to Whitney Houston’s, ‘I’m Every Woman’,” I reply.

Then, it was like a light switch went off in her Tabasco and crack addled brain,

“Whatever,” she snapped, “Whatever. Shut up, you annoying bitch.”

Ohhhhh HELLLLL NO. No, she DIH-NT (watch 00:18 seconds in)

“I’M an annoying bitch? Me?!? YOU’RE the one with her music loud enough for a deaf person to hear,” I shouted at her.

“Just cause you’re miserable and don’t wanna go to work doesn’t mean you have to bother me,” she said. Yes, she actually word vomited that shit.

“Who said I was miserable? And what the fuck does that have to do with turning your damn music—“ And then I stopped. I realized the woman was clearly not playing a full deck of cards and, instead, I just started laughing.

I learned a while ago that when faced with crazy, act crazy.

She didn’t really know what to say to my laughing so she actually didn’t say anything in response (score one for me), but she did proceed to listen to some of the worst shit ever produced at top volume. I mean the bus driver was looking over at me as if to say, “What the fuck?”

Because I really am the spawn of Satan with a death wish, every so often I would look over at her and when she looked at me, I’d just start laughing.

When we pulled into the Port Authority, I stood up in preparation for getting off the bus. I looked over at her. I smiled — huge. Then I waved. She looked perplexed. Mid-wave my hand gesture turned from the universal sign for hello to the universal sign for “Fuck you.” Yes, I gave the thing that crawled out of Paris Hilton’s cooch, the middle finger.

I reeaaaaaaaaaally don’t like being called a bitch — especially before coffee.

“FUCK YOU!” She yelled, and then for good measure added, “BITCH!” while I proceeded to laugh, even taking time to say, “Have a great weekend” to the bus driver, who (along with the rest of the bus) totally heard the talking Culo explode.

You see, folks, take notes. The beauty of this scenario was that no one on the bus heard me say anything. And, since they’re all focusing on getting their shit together in preparation for getting off the bus, they didn’t see me give her the finger, either.  So to everyone else, she just looked REALLY FUCKING INSANE.

I’m not gonna lie. My ass cheeks were tightly clenched as I wound my way through the Port Authority because I was not entirely sure she wouldn’t catch up to me and beat me. Mental note to self: Make shank this weekend.  But I did not run. I didn’t even walk quickly. One might even say I sauntered. And I never looked back. Not once. 

But I’m totally taking a different bus on Monday.

7 down, 160 more to go!

NOTE: Turn the volume all the way up and you can slightly make out the music. Remember, the bus is loud, and my phone is not some state-of-the-art recording device so the fact that you can make out anything, should tell you how loud she was.

#6: Hooked on Phonics

I’ve heard a lot of drivers say a lot of crazy shit: from the ones who’ve asked me if I’m French (because, yes, I look like this) to those who actually employ the bus intercom system to yell at a car in front of them:

“YOU! IN THE DODGE! YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE DONE THAT! I HAVE A TOOTHPICK FOR A DICK AND YELLING INTO AN INTERCOM LIKE THE EPIC DOUCHE THAT I AM IS THE ONLY WAY I CAN GET OFF!”

Um, OK, I made up last sentence, but the first part is totally accurate and has happened. Twice.

But I digress. For the most part, though, drivers don’t do much except for drive the bus. I mean they are somewhat responsible for the lives of 50+ assholes, and if they fuck up their admittedly stressful, yet relatively simple job, well…that’s a lot of shit to explain.

So imagine my surprise when Hooked on Phonics started reading while the bus was in motion. In my delusional mind he was reading to further his career — material like the “How to Make Change” or (my personal favorite) “How to Read a Bus Schedule…and Share the Information” pamphlets that I’m sure the union only offers their most promising drivers (aka The Few. The Lame. The NJ Transit Bus Drivers.) But, in truth, he must’ve been perusing something scintillating like an article on new developments in toilet paper, which is obviously far more important than…watching the road.

I wanted to say to him, “Can I get you anything else, perhaps? A cocktail? A snack? Pillow? Or how about…Perez Hilton’s mouth? Cause you’re gonna need it for the huge cock of justice that I’m going to make you blow after we get into an accident."

161 more to go!

#5: Your Driving is Making Me Ill

Man, talk about starting a Monday off on the right foot! We were just coming out of the tunnel and all of a sudden I felt this Vince Neil-like presence hovering above me, swaying and saying she felt “awful" (video below). I was afraid that I was going to lose my shit if this woman vomited on me as I was envisioning this woman’s head turning and spewing on me because she was standing right above me and there was nowhere for me to go. I wasn’t going to sit in the dude’s lap* (pic above) sitting next to me. And I was in the front seat of the bus. I was completely stuck in her projectile cross hairs.

While visions of puke danced in my head, the woman was literally unable to stand any longer and thankfully she plopped down on the stairs. The bus driver was mumbling something inaudible, while keeping one eye on the road and one eye on the woman.

When we arrived at the Port Authority the woman stumbled off the bus, somehow managed to walk onto the escalator, and then sat down on the floor when she got off. I asked her if she wanted me to get help. She nodded. I ran and grabbed this dude I always see standing guard. I literally yelled, “Hey! I need your help. There’s a woman who is ill!” He came to look at her and said he would get the police. I was standing there with her until she told me she was OK, that she could wait by herself, but she thanked me.

I hope she's feeling better, and am grateful I arrived spewless to work. #5 down, 162 left!

*Originally, my blog for today was going to be on the tightness of this guy’s pants, hence the reason I took a picture. He may reappear at a later juncture, especially because I still haven’t gone Nancy Drew and solved "The Mystery of How This Man Sits Down." But, seriously, folks, if you had the choice between getting exorcised on, or climbing into this, which would you choose?

#4: The Whiner

Take road rage, remove the violence, add both the volume and pitch of a tortured cat and pour it into a chalupa and you’ll get...The Whiner.

“AAAY! Why doesn’t she move! Doesn’t she know she’s blockeeng all thees boo-sehs?” The Whiner moaned loud enough for the entire bus to hear because the bus lane had slowed to a crawl and the bus in the front was moving slower than it took Kevin Federline to learn how to read .

Before we reached the Port Authority she looked at me and held up two fingers in my face and said, “Two days! Two days now we’ve had thees cone-geeestion!” I stared at her blankly. First, I had to translate her words in my head, and second, I was distracted by her visible ability to count.

She also actually got up and asked the driver if she could be dropped off sooner than the Port Authority. Uh…after the tunnel are just thin ramps bordering five Pissed-Off-I-Just-Sat-In-Tunnel-Traffic lanes and then the Port Authority. I guess she wanted to be let off on the ramp so she could play leap frog or something?

But my own personal favorite signature move of The Whiner is when she bitches about the driver’s driving —loud enough (purposely, natch) so he or she can hear.

“AAAY! Thees one goes SOOO slow! We are naaaayver going to get there! We don’t have aaaaalll day, zhu know what I’m saying?! AAAAY!” Then she nudges me and nods over at the driver, who is either deaf or doesn’t give a shit. Much like myself.

163 more to go!

#3: Crazy, Retarded, Racist Cross-Eyed Woman

Actual quote(s) overheard: 

"My gums hurt."

"I like shrimp. My husband got me into it. Except I don't like shrimp cocktail. Uncooked shrimp is disgusting."

"Turn the heat down! I've asked you a hundred times already! Why don't you go back to wherever you came from!"

I'm willing to bet the farm that this woman is legally mentally retarded in some ways, though (amazingly) fully functional. She's even apparently married, since every other sentence mentions this husband, though, I wouldn't be surprised to find out that her "husband" is actually just another word for her imaginary friend . She dresses as though she's blind, but really, she's merely cross-eyed. I would feel bad for her and I would be on my way to hell, save for the fact that she's a racist. One time she threw a bona fide shit fit at the bus driver and yelled at him to go back to "wherever he came from" because the bus wasn't cooling down fast enough to her liking. I've also seen her full-on try and block someone of a darker complexion from sitting next to her. She literally threw her arm across the seat and everything. Either he was a little short bus himself or he just didn't give a shit about the crazy, retarded, racist cross-eyed woman and just sat his brown ass down. She moved her arm just in time. The cherry on top? She sounds like she's drunk: loud as hell, slurred and painfully labored pronunciation of each word. 

#3 down, 164 more to go!

#2: Suspicious Eyes

This guy didn't say a word, just sat there looking cool and calm with his sunglasses. Until we entered the Tommy Lee of NYC tunnels (Lincoln) and he pulled out his video camera. For those who don't know it's pretty fuckin dark in there. One could (hypothetically) conceive a child in there and no one would be the wiser. Quietly, he took his video camera out of his bag and got it ready by flipping the screen out and powering it up. Then he waited until we passed one of those double-decker red sightseeing buses and he filmed them as we passed. He did this one more time before we got pooped out on the other side. 

I called the Port Authority Suspicious Activity line. They were supposed to be sending a detective to look at the photo I took. Oh well. It's not like NYC has reason to be worried about tour bus bombings.

Second one down, 165 more to go!

#1: Smelly Finger Sniffer

Actual quote overheard from Passenger #1 (aka Jacked Barbra Streisand) while she was word vomiting into her cell:

“I went to Hahtland Brewery tonight with da girlzzz now my fingers smell. Yes, they smell like finger foods!”

And then she... actually smelled her fingers.

Read the full, horrific story here.

1 down, 166 more to go!