W.B has some shitty luck and calls me a 'bastard' in German

Monday, 23 August 2010


dear stinky saukerl:

i was thinking about you quite hard when i took the ride to the airport in buenos aires.

mainly because it was like the ride from hell.

it was so packed inside that i never actually had to worry about falling over or holding on to anything; i only had to worry about people lingering too much into my personal space. traffic sucked. it was bumper to bumper and it didn't take long for me to grow tired of craning my neck to see out the window for... what?... all there was to see was slow progress and a blanket of red brake lights.

so i entertained myself by counting.

a lot.

~~~~~What W.B Counted~~~~~

- i counted how many times the short bald guy with the obscene roll of neck fat cleared his throat per minute. he must have been coming down with a cold or something because he and his throat clearing, well, they really went to town.

the total number: 5.

per minute. which equals 200 clearing of the throat in the span of 40 minutes. which equals me staring incredulously at the back of his head wondering if i should offer him my bottle of tap water. i even think my jaw dropped open at one point when he had a little throat clearing fit halfway through the ride.

- after that, i counted how many consecutive seconds the guy wearing the black and white hoodie sitting on the right side of the bus would drill holes through my left cheek before blinking rapidly and turning away (only to resume staring again after a few moments).

the total number: 480 the first time.

300 the second time.

and 390 the last time before i got bored and shot him my best fuck off look.

- and finally, there was a younger couple sitting towards the back of the bus behind me, completely intent on making babies just by sucking sloppily on the other's face. so i figured every moan the girl let out equaled 25% of a kid and every time the guy successfully managed a boob graze, that would equal one kid. her and her man were on their way to 8 and a half babies by time time i got distracted***.

***~~~~~the reason W.B got distracted~~~~~

was because one hour in, my bus lurched to a halt one last time, dumped everybody on a side street, and took off again, empty.

i didn't really know what the reason was and i didn't want to wait around for the next bus so i grabbed a cab and spent the next 5 minutes of my life parked on a corner trying to explain to the driver which airport i wanted to go to (while in the background a new bus came -picked up the unloaded passengers- and went). i settled back into my seat, brought out my wallet and started counting out 120 pesos, simultaneously, my driver drove about 100 yards and decided right then and there that !!!!!NOW!!!!! would be the perfect time to plow right into two crossing pedestrians, including their right of way.

everything slowed down.

and two things happened at once.

1) my driver's right hand hovered shakily over the stick shift and i could practically see his mind working, torn between wanting to take off and wanting to take off with me still in the car. his legs kept shifting between the gas, the brake, and the clutch and his eyes kept darting to the growing commotion that was taking place in front of him, and to me, through the rear view mirror.

2) i was gathering all of my shit while kicking the door open so i could get the fuck out.

i dont know what the protocol is in buenos aires, but there was absolutely no way i was sticking around. The last thing i need is to be in a in a different country surrounded by cops who want to know my situation, so i pushed away from the scene (i couldn't resist: one obvious broken leg, one obvious broken arm, one cracked watch, a small amount of blood, stiff but wailing bodies, a pale and miserable driver, sirens in the distance, surrounded by an audience of 25 and growing) and hailed another cab 2 blocks down that took me the rest of the way to the airport with no more problems.

i stopped thinking about you during the 10 hours for me to get to mexico city because you only had to go to the airport. but in that trip, i sat in a magical seat which had this wonderful feature where it would just randomly press the call button three times per hour demanding a flight attendant to stomp down the aisle to pay me a visit. eventually they realized i really wasn't trying to be a pain in their ass (as i gave my best apologetic but eat shit smile) and that the button must have been jammed or something so they quit coming around but every once in a while they would have to hurry down the aisle, reach over me despite whatever i was doing, and press the cancel call button (giving me a taste of my own apologetic but eat shit smile). oh. and a baby vomited on me.

~~~~~How Many Times Vomit Made an Appearance on This Trip~~~~~

five.

1) by a seven year old kid on the aisle next to me on the way to thailand
2) by me in the bushes near the building where the red shirts were protesting in khon kaen after drinking copious amounts of scotch with my uncle
3) by me one hour after leaving peru with whitney houston's 'how will i know' playing in the background
4) by a woman sitting in back of me on the return trip from iguazu while her children watched helplessly
5) on my shoulder heading to mexico city


p.s i dont know how you did it. the last time i took a hit of acid i almost chewed through the inside of my right cheek. and when i was coming down it was like the worst trip ev- oh wait that was shrooms. never mind.

0 comments: