Tag Archives: only losers take the bus

Tardsie’s True-Ass Tales: Tidbits

08 Tuesday May 2012

Posted by in Culture

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By Tardsie

Tardsie’s Collected A Few Stories In His Time.

***

The Bad Touch

I have a friend who maintains–and as ridiculous as this claim may sound, if you knew the guy, you’d understand why I believe it–that he’s tried masturbation only once. He says he didn’t like it.

I told him he was doing it wrong.

It’s So Easy To Do–We’re Doing It Right Now!

***

Mark David Chapman–We Need You Now!

When I was a kid I had a copy of the Bee Gees’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, which I mistakenly believed was the Bee Gees’ original work. One day, while listening to the album and making fun of it, my friend’s mom burst into the room and said, “That’s BEATLES music!” She looked at me with an expression of stone-cold horror and said, “One day you’ll be sorry you made fun of the Beatles!” For a while I was weirded-out by that, waiting for the regret-shoe to drop.

I’m still not sorry, Mrs. Martinez, but I hope you’re well.

If Anything, Tardsie Should Get Points For Mocking This Musical Abortion.

***

Only Losers Ride The Bus

When I can, I prefer to travel by train. Air travel is unpleasant enough, thanks to my fear of flying (I don’t fear terrorists; I fear that the massive metal tube in which I am travelling will, like Wile E. Coyote after he has dashed off the side of a cliff, suddenly realize that it has   heretofore been denying a fundamental principle of physics and plummet abruptly earthward, accompanied all the while by the soundtrack of my girlish screams) and the myriad inconveniences attendant with the ‘airline experience.’

Much Like The Storied Honey Badger, Amtrak Doesn’t Give A Shit.

Amtrak personnel–if you’ll pardon a rare excursion into vulgarity–don’t give two shits. With one notable exception, they don’t care what you do as long as you’re not so blatant about it that you force their hand. The one rule I’ve seen Amtrak enforce–with a vengeance–is a prohibition against smoking tobacco. Get caught smoking and they will throw your ass off at the next stop. No foolin.’ As I don’t smoke cigarettes, I can enjoy the refreshingly anachronistic freedom the train offers.

A great example of this is from a recent trip I took. For privacy reasons, I make it a point to ask the attendant not to make up my room, usually with the explanation that I work late into the evening (which is true). However, at one point, I hadn’t realized that a new attendant had come on duty, and while I was at dinner, he made up my room. I was chagrined when I arrived back at my room to find several items I would very much NOT like discovered stacked neatly beside the freshly made bed. Nothing more was ever said, however, and of course the attendant got a nice tip.

I’ve always maintained that train travel is for degenerate stoners and the elderly. I’ll let you know right now, folks–I’m not that old.

God, We Love The Train.

***

Sometimes Tardsie Wants To Punch Himself In The Face

I walked into work one day and saw that one of my coworkers, a girl named Kelly, was dressed to the nines.

“Hey, Kelly,” I said, “You look great! Who died?”

“My grandma,” she said.

***

What Not To Say To A Cop

I lived in Washington State for a while, where having California license plates is considered a capital crime. So one day this cop in Mt. Lake Terrace pulls me over for speeding and starts giving me shit about being from California, “We have speed limits here, son!”

Apparently the little fellow was irritated when I broke eye contact with him to look for my insurance paperwork. He said, “If you don’t want to listen, I can just give you the ticket right now.”

A little pissed myself, I said, “I’m listening, dude, I’m just looking for my paperwork.”

“Hey!” He said, “Don’t call me that. I’m not a dude, all right?”

If I’d had another second to think about it, I would have chosen a different path. Instead, I said, “I’m sorry, ma’am–you looked so masculine.”

He didn’t care for that one bit.

This Guy Was Holding $15 Worth Of Pot. Not In Lewis County, Washington.

A Foul, Yet Affordable Rolling Bedlam

11 Wednesday Aug 2010

Posted by in Crime, Culture, Holiday, People, Places, Social Networking, World Affairs

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By Smaktakula

The airplane has emerged as the prefered means of conveyance for most Americans.  Commuters routinely jet between neighboring cities which once they would have reached by rail or road.  Trains are still used by East Coast commuters, retired English teachers and quirky, garrulous middle-aged gay men; they have long since ceased to be a viable travel option for the rest of America.  The airlines are fast, but expensive.  Amtrak, a bloated, dying beast supported by the American taxpayer, is interminably slow as well as being expensive.  For those wretched souls for whom neither conveyance is an option, only the bus remains.

"Your Chocolate Got In My Peanut Butter!" Buses And Embankments Are Two Great Tastes That Taste Great Together.

Americans seem to understand instinctively that bus travel is travel of the last resort.  A July 23rd tragedy in Fresno, California validated those fears when a Greyhound bus collided with an overturned SUV, then clipped another vehicle before all three plummeted over a 15-foot embankment, killing six people.  More recently, three people were killed in a Utah bus crash.  Add to those figures the six Namibians and thirteen Chinese killed in bus accidents in the last few days.  Amid the carnage, a grisly message begins to coalesce: travel by bus, die horribly.

It has been said that there is no good way to die.  However, some deaths are so uncomfortable and degrading as to measure to a standard all their own.  By any reckoning, death by bus is among the worst.

Urban commuters familiar with the city bus often fail to appreciate the dismal squalor of its far-traveling cousin.  They correctly point out that like long-distance buses, city buses are also filthy, slow and buzz with incipient craziness.  But when compared to the Yemeni prison-on-wheels that is the Greyhound bus, the Muni transforms into a first-class berth on the Orient Express.  City dwellers may find it unsettling that the ratty, sour-smelling man in the stained overcoat is peeing into the center aisle, but should take some comfort that they face little danger of being decapitated by a deranged seatmate.

Buses Are Often Crowded, And Finding A Seat To Yourself Can Be Difficult. Looking And Smelling Like This Gentleman Will Give You A Leg Up On Your Competition.

It is difficult to imagine a more disagreeable group of people with whom to be squashed into a collective jelly than these mouth-breathers:  The slicked-back shifty dude with a cobweb tattooed in the corner of his eye socket; the skeevy sailor on leave and on the make, and the fifteen-year old runaway who, in other circumstances might give it up for him; incomprehensible migrants and their improperly-stowed livestock; the recently paroled ex-convict with his bottomless retinue of off-key Al Green numbers; and the smelly, twitchy guy for whom Jesus is always very near.  A further horror is the revelation that one of these bipedal humanoids is the bus driver.

There is a final indignity that in many ways surpasses the thousand tiny cuts suffered by these doomed commuters.  It is disheartening enough to accept that people are born and must live out their aching lives in the reeking cow-town that gave the world Victor “Balco” Conte, NKOTB’s Jordan Knight and hip-hop impressario, K-Fed; that people must also end their days there may be too much for the soul to bear.  No one should have to die in Fresno.

Fresno: Hot, Dirty And Full Of Suck.

They Get Facebook In Fresno. Tell ‘Em About It