As I turned the corner, little Asian guy had defied time, gravity and physics and was somehow already on the bus and I cursed at the fact that if I didn't run towards the bus flailing my arms and gesturing that I needed to be on the bus, I would miss the bus. So I start running towards the bus, flailing my arms and gesturing that I need to be on the bus and the fucking driver looks at me and begins to drive off. This driver could've retrieved his license from Satan's burning vagina after passing his MR test in the fiery depths of hell and I'd still have every right to refer to him as a cunt on the grounds that he saw me running towards the bus and continued his journey even though he was running early. His only excuse for doing so is that he's either blind, in which case he shouldn't be driving a bus, or he assumes that people just run around flailing their arms and gesturing that they need to be on a bus for shits and giggles, which isn't an excuse as much as it is further evidence that he's a cunt.
Anyway, as if struck by a millisecond of human decency, Sir Cuntington decides to stop and wait for me and rolls his eyes so hard that I swear they would've flown out of their sockets had their trajectory not been hindered by the terrible Transperth-issued driving glasses he was wearing at the time. I could almost hear his eyes rolling around in his little skull as I swiped my smartrider and during my usual scan of the carriage for people I may know, people I may hate and any mumbling nutcases that might entertain me on my journey, I noticed that everyone present was really unhappy, like, one way trip to the old concentration camp unhappy. It seemed as though the sand in Sir Cuntington's vagina had left a trail all the way from Morley and he'd gone out of his way to ruin everyone's life as much as he'd tried to ruin mine.
Then, out of blind fucking nowhere an elderly citizen tugs my jumper as I walk past and gestures me down to his level and whispers the words "god forbid you make him wait another ten seconds eh?", letting out a glorious, age-defying chuckle immediately afterwards. I laughed and responded as loudly as possible "YEAH LOOKS LIKE WE'VE GOT AN IMPATIENT ONE TODAY", making sure I'm looking directly at Cuntington's rear vision mirror as I do so.
A couple of other passengers smirked and I swear that moments later, over the roar of the number 19's acceleration towards the next stop, I heard the sound of a single tear landing atop a pile of freshly dispensed vagina sand.
The old man gave Sir Cuntington an orange when we got off at the city. :)
