The Ghost of the Greyhound- INTERMISSION

OK.  Well, youŕe probably getting tired of all the wild shit that's been going on in that Greyhound story so maybe we oughtta take a break.  Plus, I don't feel like telling that story right now, not to mention that nothing actually even happened.  I mean the bus sucks and I was just gonna illustrate that by telling you about me being on it.  Don't worry, Iĺl get around to it but I'm just telling you that you might as well not shit your pants in anticipation.

Without googling it, I'm gonna sit here and wonder if anticipation and constipation are two words that are even remotely related to one another.

Probably not, but we can't be too sure.  Let's play it safe, folks.

So yeah, I napped intermittently throughout the night in between movies I never even thought about before on netflix and a 6 pack of ice beer.  And some giant can of some stupid margarita thing that they looked at me funny at the store for buying.  I finally watched Brokeback Mountain.  Not like I've necessarily been holding out for that one, but I have to admit I was curious as to what all the hype was about.  I'm still kinda in the dark about that one.  It was okay though.  God I'm weaning myself off of my stupid psyche medication and now I'm having dreams about talking basketballs and weird llama monster things whenever I manage to doze off for a few minutes.  

So that's where I am with the Greyhound story.

Aw, fuck it.  It's like 7 in the morning so I might as well wrap er up since I'm not gonna say anything about anything anyway.  Then I can advance to a whole new line of stupid crap that nobody oughtta be wasting their time with.

So I forget where I last left you hanging in this serial drama, but I think I was at the bus station being a drunk schmuck.  Just for the sake of keeping things rolling, Iĺl start there.

I was at the bus station being a drunk schmuck.  I wasn't really doing anything, but I was drunk and I was a schmuck so there you go.  Anyway, I put some vodka-enhanced charm on the lady who was selling tickets so that by the time she finally gave me my ticket she no longer totally hated my fuckin guts.  Or so it seemed.  I chalked it up as a victory.  Before I left the ticket lady I ever-so-suavely slurred that I was starvin my ass off and did she know where I could get a cheeseburger.  She smiled and told me all about this cheeseburger place that was about 25 feet away from me.  I wrote down the directions to the place and set out on an adventure to locate it..

The cheeseburger lady was a fuckin jerk.  Everybody who works for Greyhound is a fuckin jerk.  The employee policy seems to be ; "Ïf you don't fuckin like it then get the hell outta here with no refunds or weĺl call the cops and weĺl bet that they hate you worse than we do."  And that motto seems to work for them.  Greyhound is the armpit of America.  The dried up gum under the picnic table that you forgot probably existed but it does and somebody should've thrown it out years ago.  Not a good analogy but it's 7 in the morning and whatever.  

OK, so the burger chef sucked but the burger rocked.  You wouldn't think it would've, but it did.  It might've had something to do with my combined levels of intoxication and starvation.  Who knows?  Does old Kool and the Gang sound good or are you just drunk and nostalgic?  It's a timeless philosophical question that remains unanswered.  Either way, the only good memory I have of my recent bus experience was the one I have of that goddam cheeseburger.  It was delicious.

Uh oh.  Guess what, folks?  Weŕe all outta time.  I gotta make coffee or eat something or go get another 6-pack or something.  That's okay though, right?  I mean really, who gives a fuck?  If you do then you need to calm down.