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This is a question Buses

We've got a local bus driver who likes to pull away slowly just to see how far old ladies with shopping trollies will chase him down the road. By popular demand - tell us your thrilling bus anecdotes.

Thanks to glued eel for the suggestion

(, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 13:14)
Pages: Latest, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Bernard Righton
There’s an English feller and a Jewish feller at a bus stop and the English feller says 'What times the bus due?'...and the Jewish feller says 'About half past seven'

Happens all the time I'm sure.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 5:37, 1 reply)
The other day i had a job interview...
...so I donned my Hugo Boss suit which only comes out on the rarest of occasions and set out for the interview looking uber-business like. Now I cant drive due to the man not giving me a licence for reasons i wont go into. So anyhow, I hop on the bus and zone out as you do. About halfway into town (i travel up wilmslow road, manchester, the busiest bus route in europe apparently) and as we stop at the university bus stop i see a dissheveled grey haired old man badgering two pretty young women who look absoloutly terrified! The door opens and i manage to catch him say 'well just wanted to tell you you have nice legs, are you not getting on? well see ya!'. I was amused until he payed his fare, ruefully commented to the driver 'They ignored me, its what people do' and turned toward me to take his seat: It was a lad I knew from high school, for the purposes of this story we shall call him Dale Dunbar (for that was his name, its ok he changed it to something else for fuck-knows what reason). Hes only a year older than me and he looked like a homeless person in his 50's!!! I immediately turned and gazed out of the window and luckily he either didnt recognise me or most probably didnt want to talk to me as much as i didnt want to talk to him.* He sat further behind me and started babbling as if having a conversation with somebody called 'rachel' even though there was nobody there ("I'll become a builder rach, its what you do to earn money in manchester, become a builder". Another encounter I had with the past was when I was temping at the company that deals with bus passes. He requested a concessionary fare pass due to disability. In the box where you were supposed to put what disability you have he wrote 'Women Problems'. I feel bad I wasnt always nice to him.

* back at school years ago, we had just finished playing football when dale realised he'd left his jumper (yes it was a goalpost) at the other end of the pitch. As he collected it he threw his head back swigging at a large fizzy-drink bottle full of water. Just for the why-the-fuck-not-ness of it i hoofed the ball high in the air hoping that it would land right on the end of the bottle but realising the chance of it actually happening were very very slim (he was literally at the other end of a near-fullsize football field). The ball, in slow motion rose up in the air, its trajectory was on target and was looking like a good kick. At the apex of its flight, he took a breath, then as the ball began to descend he continued drinking, the ball was still on target! My heart began to rise as i realised that the impossible lob might actually hit him! But I was unprepaired for how perfectly it connected with the bottom of the bottle as it was pointing toward the sky! I whooped with delight as the bottle was rammed down his throat at the same time as he splurted water all over the place, our friends who we were playing football with were in hysterics and amazed at this impossible shot and the walk home was a mixture of incredulity at the shot and hilarity at the expense of poor Dale. I cant help but think that this was possibly the event that turned an old school mate down a dark path that lead into his becoming 'that-weirdo' nobody wants to talk to.
(, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 1:31, Reply)
My Ex was an arsehole who always drifted off to sleepums on the bus, no matter how short the journey. One day, after a morning row about milk, we both got on the bus and enevitable fuckwit(as I now call him) fell asleep. Being the cow that I am :) I decided that today was the day that he was gonna learn him a lesson about taking stuff for granted. Now usually, I'd wake him up at the destination stop but I accidently forgot. I got an irate phonecall from him an hour later as he'd woken up 15 miles away at the bus' final destination. I went back to mum's. I presume that he somehow found his way home...
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 23:40, Reply)
The Bus Stop
Lisa and the bus..

It was a cold day in may, one of those days where the wind whips up and makes it feel like the temperature is much colder than it actually is.

Standing at the ubiquitous bus stop at the end of the road as I did every morning on my way to school, I happened to notice her, today more than any other day. I noticed her. I don't know what was different today, maybe it was the weather, maybe I was just feeling more lonely than usual, all that matters was that I noticed her.

She had strawberry red lipstick an old worn schoolbag balanced in that slightly messy but cool look that only schoolkids can get away with. She wore the uniform well, the blazer was tidy but not buttoned up, well fitted white shirt that seamed to shine even in the dull morning shade. She had the school tie of course tied backwards as most of the cool kids did to 'rebel against the system'. Then there was the skirt, pleated and short enough that the wind would gently flick it up every now and then, it would give you a slight glint of the cute white panties nestled snugly underneath. It was just a millisecond in time, but I was transfixed for what felt like hours.

Every day had been like this for the last few months, we had been going to the same bus stop, taking the same bus and going to the same school, but the words we had shared were nothing more than the odd passing comment, “bus is late again”, “are you ready for that math test?” the usual boring muck. I didn't really know what else to say, every second that passed was like an infinity in my mind, my repertoire contained a thousand words of praise for her beauty, but my mouth would speak of none, I couldn't help it, I had always been shy, I got bullied a lot when I was younger and she was one of the cool kids, it just wasn't socially accepted. I was afraid of the rejection and what it would mean.

8:20 am, the bus is late again, so I look up at her for that moment of connection and understanding where I look at my watch look at her and then shrug hoping for her to return a smile, a gesture a word of agreement, anything will do, but nothing....

She starts to shiver from the cold, no tights today I notice, my mind wanders for a moment to imagine what those tights get to see and do, it thinks of what her bedroom looks like and her underwear draw stuffed with numerous fancies with ribbons and flowers.

I look at the time again, 8:30 am, where the fuck is the bus? 20 minutes late! Its not been this late before, we're already late for school and I'm running out of “the bus was late” excuses. I had actually used most of them up by failing to make it out of bed on time and was starting to regret it.

It's cold, I'm late, and I'm horny, maybe I should just go home, have a loner wank and say that I'm sick. It would save me from....then out of no-where I hear it.....”maybe we should walk?”

She spoke to me. She actually spoke to me. She started up a conversation. She wanted to walk with me to school!

Wait Panda, play it cool, don't so your usual almost girlish shriek yes, just be casual!

So I turn around and look up at her face, her fringe is now blowing across her face, slightly masking her chestnut eyes, her lips are chapped from the wind, but it was definitely those lips that spoke.

I look down and reach for her hand, and then something happens, something I wasn't planning, somehow in the space of a millisecond I had turned into the brave stupid douchebag type that are ten a penny at school. I had moved in for a kiss, I don't know how, I don't know why I wasn't thinking, I just did it!

She stepped back, looked slowly up at me and said “Mr Jennings, stop it you're a dirty fucking paedo, and yes I'm ready for your fucking maths test already so stop asking me every week!!”
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 23:07, 1 reply)
and another
You know how it is-you sit there on a bus minding yer own bizz when sure as hell you become the nutter magnet,theres a guy who gets on my bus and spends his entire journey talking to himself and giving everyone else the fear.

On way home from a gig last year i got talking to what seemed like a sweet old lady-she asked who i had seen at the venue and i told her before asking her memories of the place as it used to be a cinema,this was a bad mistake cos she went into a venomous rant about the area and how the immigrants had ruined her dear old slice of Blighty-i ended up getting off the bus a few stops early in an area of which i had the scantest of knowledge to escape her bigotted rant.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 22:54, Reply)
That old scouse joke
Passenger: "Is this bus going to Speke?"
Driver: "Well it's never said anything before!"

Whereas in Stoke-on-Trent, the buses are going to Talke.

I used to commute daily on the bus to Vulcan, which was nice.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 22:18, 2 replies)
Just recalled this gem...
Megabus. £1 from London to Newcastle. Why not? So a guy gets on in London and sits down behind my ladyfriend and I. We stop on the way to pick up more passengers and a lot of people get on. Some pikey goes to sit by the guy and he says, "Sorry, I've paid for that seat". Turns out he'd had the genius idea of paying £2 to get both seats so he could lie down on the way. Pure genius, you see? The pikey wasn't impressed as there were no more seats so an argument ensued. The guy stood up - all 6'6 of him. The pikey then stood fuming for the remaining eight hours to Newcastle. Haha.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 21:06, 1 reply)
I was once waiting for a bus for an hour.
Then three came along at once.

You couldn't make this stuff up.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 20:55, Reply)
"Heading" home...
One of the kids at my school didn't show up one day. We asked where he was. The teacher said he'd died. Sad. What the teacher hadn't told us was that he'd been decapitated while waiting at a bus stop the night before. A passing coach had left its luggage hatch open, driven past and taken off the kid's head. Funny old world.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 20:51, Reply)
Revenge is a dish best served......eaten?
Living in Non-UK European country and not having a driving license I get to travel the Pov wagon fairly often. I tend to keep my iPod in and face firmly turned towards the window lest any of my fellow travellers try and engage me in conversation
ANYWAY my story...
Sitting minding my own business near the middle of the busy bendy bus (alliteration ROCKS) I hear shouting towards the front of the bus, a girl around my age (27) was sat next to a young black man shouting typical (for this country at least) fairly racist remarks, enquiring whether he could in fact fornicate with himself, and requesting that he does indeed 'go back to the jungle'. This poor man was sitting there not making a sound, head straight ahead and not reacting. Meanwhile the inspector gets on and is asking for tickets, people are holding them ready to show that all is paid and proper when the young black gentleman takes the shouty ladies ticket out of her hand, eats it and then carries on staring straight ahead. She went mental and of course explaining to the inspector that her ticket had been eaten just got her thrown of the bus for being a nutter without a valid ticket.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 19:42, 16 replies)
Wife's story
When my wife was a kid she used to get the bus to school every day. She remembers one trip incredibly vividly. A police motorcyclist decided to overtake the bus on the inside and unfortunately the bus driver didn't notice him, turned left and knocked him off his motorbike. Motorbike helmets are rather ineffective against bus wheels. My wife is not sure if the sound all the kids heard was the popping of the helmet or his skull.

That reminds me, she asked me to pick up a water melon on the way home.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 17:21, Reply)
the Great Fish War of '85
my first year of senior(high) school, my bus stopped by a tiny fish shop which, strangely enough, sold tiny fish. sprats, to be precise.
these sprats were mostly bought by anglers as cheap bait. 30p would get you about a dozen of these smelly, slimy little buggers.

one day, one of the older boys decided that he didn't really like another boy so, before boarding the bus, he purchased some fishy ammunition, which he proceeded to fling at this other boy, along with everyone else on the top deck of the bus. the stench was horrendous but, by the time we got to school, we all had the same idea: let's all buy sprats tomorrow!

and so we did.

armed with our fishy parcels, about 20 of us boarded the bus, went upstairs and unleashed piscine armageddon.
what fun! we may have stunk like a prossie's laundry basket, but we had had a ball. also, when we got to school, we got an unexpected bonus; we were all sent home to rid ourselves of our rather disturbing eau de billingsgate. result!

for the next 2 weeks, the Great Fish War continued, with alliances formed, broken and reformed ten times or more in the 20 minutes it took us to get to school.

then, one day, our fun was suddenly over. the owner of the fish shop refused to serve us and the school bought a washing machine and tumble dryer. if anybody came to school in a fishy state, their uniform would be confiscated and washed, they would be forced to spend the rest of the school day wearing a bright red plastic smock and their parents would be charged for the cleaning.

still, it was fun while it lasted.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 17:19, Reply)
Daring Explorer Bus
I was spending New Year's Eve with some friends out of town in an area where I was later to discover lacked street lights - a bit of a country area.

We all caught the bus into the local town square and made merry with others and watched the fireworks, then after that early-to-bed Dog was the only one who wanted to go back to the friend's place and go to bed. So Dog did.

Dog caught the bus back and had to then confess to the driver she didn't have a clue where she was meant to get off. The bus driver was used to a different route and so couldn't help. It being NYE, everyone on the bus joined the discussion and two were found who knew where Dog needed to go. Happy and helpful bus driver took the directions and started on his way.

Dog and all the bus passengers quickly came to love this bus driver. He didn't bother with the route much at all, he drove around the area and took everyone to their actual homes dropping them off at their door. Marvellous! Dog was the last passenger and the people who got off just prior reiterated the directions to the driver and so lucky Dog was let off in a pitch black country area with a cheery Happy New Year and the driver waited to make sure Dog found her way into the right house.

Hmm, not a very exciting story but as bus drivers are usually miserable examples of human excreta (probably with good reason), finding a lovely bus driver like this one made my night really.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 16:21, Reply)
Dead passenger...
...I was dispatched (ambulance) to a bus stop near a local shopping centre - a bus driver had radioed his HQ and told them that he had found an elderly lady laying in front of the bus stop and that she probably needed an ambulance.
Sure enough, we found the patient lying in front of the bus stop. She was dead and we couldn't revive her as the 'downtime' had been too long. The police arrived at our request and they went through her handbag, found some phone numbers in a diary and contacted a relative.

This is where it got a little strange.

Her daughter told the police that she couldn't figure out why her mum was waiting for a bus at that particular stop - it would have taken her the wrong way and was in fact the stop where she would normally get off after visiting friends in the city. The police noticed a nearby security camera and on looking through the tapes they found footage of the bus driver dragging her off the bus, laying her down in front of the bus stop and he then got back on the bus, which is when he radioed his HQ to tell them of his "finding the patient laying in front of the bus stop."

He got interviewed by the police and told them that he wanted her off the bus as "the bloody paramedics would have tried to revive her on the bus" and so cause him to finish his shift late.

Instead he got sacked and charged by the police. The twat.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 16:17, 14 replies)
In Teesside, the armpit of the UK where I happen to reside, we have the happiest bus driver in the whole of the world. Nothing was ever to much trouble, and he had a permanent smile. (Please note this sets him apart from almost every other bus driver, as they are miserable fuckwits)

I didnt really seem him for a while, and I wondered what happened to him.
A few days passed. Then weeks. After what seemed like an eternity, he returned, but he was no longer driving. Oh no, he was now the worlds happiest inspector!

Anyway, to make a long badly written story short, me and a few mates were on the bus. One of my mates had eaten his bus ticket, (fuck knows why) when the inspector boarded. He asked to see our tickets. We produced them. My friend had eaten his ticket. The inspector asked for it, and my friend said he had eaten it. The Inspector said............."you should wait until you get home and try it with jam". Happy, weird fucker.

(Sorry this is shit)
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 15:42, 7 replies)
Bus Mentalist
I live in a nice quiet (ish) village in the north of England. Although it is mainly a quiet village, we have a fair few nut cases. (Please bear in mind over the road from my house, there is an actual NHS funded nut house).

Sooooooooo.............anyway, the ACTUAL story is below.

I needed to go to town one day for something or other, and as I approached the bus stop (this was before I aquired by driving license) I saw one of the local nutters. When I got to the bus stop, he simply asked "Bus due?" to which I replied "Not sure mate". Most people would have been content with this answer, but he continually asked me, "Bus due? Bus due?" over and fucking over again, until it arrived.

After getting on the bus, and sitting as far as fucking possible away, we eventually reached the town. The fucking nutty bloke got up, got off the bus, and then proceeded to cross the street, and get back on the same bus to go home again. Nut job. Total nut job.

Sorry about the shitness of the story.............
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 15:23, 3 replies)
Buses! Schoolkids! Court Cases!
When I was at school we'd all wait for the bus over the road from the shop in our little village. Back then the rough pavement verges next to the A-road were covered in a mixture of grass, litter and dog shit. I lost count of the times that some poor sod got berated for tropmping already-eaten winalot up the aisle of the coach, but I digress.

Being boisterous young lads there was always a pointless bundle for the door to be first on the bus when it arrived. Fuck knows why - we were going to school after all. But today, we were going to be late.

When the coach door opened it would swing outward and hinge 90 degrees toward the rear of the coach. Good ol' Drives would helpfully begin opening the doors as the bus was about to stop to minimise stoppage time.

So this particular damp morning a bundle of energetic young lads were jostling for prime boarding position on a moist grass verge whilst a several-ton coach approached and opened its door.

Amid the argy-bargy Ben happened to take a coach door in the face. Then he slipped. Then he screamed. Quite a lot.

When we looked down we could see that the coach had parked its nearside front wheel on Ben's leg. We signalled to Drives. The bus moved. Ben screamed louder.

As the adults there were trying to help him and shield him from our view (whilst lying in what was then the biggest pool of blood I'd seen) I remember thinking to myself "that's odd... why the cocking fuck is he wearing shin pads to school?"

It was only much later it dawned on me that I'd been looking at most of his tibia.

The rest of us ended up getting on the next coach that came along and saw utter horror on the other kids faces as around ten slightly green faced kids marched bloody footprints up the centre aisle of the coach.

Unbelievably his bone didn't break but the wheel ripped off pretty much all of the skin and muscle. The hospital had to take skin and muscle from other parts of his body to rebuild his totally fucked leg.

He didn't take part in sports day that year. But he did become by far the richest kid in school as the bus company ended up paying him ten grand in compensation.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 14:50, 2 replies)
'armless fun
I was waiting for a bus the other day next to a bloke with no arms and no legs. When the bus pulled up, the driver said "alright mate, how you getting on?"
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 14:50, 2 replies)
Open-Top Bus Idiocy

I spent two glorious summer holidays during my university years working as a tour guide in Oxford, conducting tours of the dreaming spires and whatnot on an open-top bus to (more often than not) bemused Taiwanese tourists who had confused it with an actual bus service or Americans who kept asking where the university was. The work was hard on the throat, but the weather was cracking, coffee was free, and opportunities for telling big lies to credulous visitors were many (and fully taken advantage of.)

I have many tales I could tell of my time on the buses. There was our ongoing war with the rival tour company, the ubiquituous and extremely unethical international company City Sightseeing (you'll have seen their buses if you've ever been to a major city, anywhere) who not only were under strict instructions from central management to put us out of business by any means possible, but employed a real, genuine, registered-and-everything paedophile as a driver. They knew it when they employed him but he would work for below minimum wage because, as you can imagine, the job offers weren't exactly pouring in. There was the ongoing contest as to who of us could concoct the best lie and get away with it, as previously mentioned, which I may go into detail on on a later post. And there were the pranks. Oh dear Lord, the pranks.

But for now, I'll just tell you about a stupidly embarassing incident that happened to me one day when there was only one passenger on the bus, a nice middle-aged English lady. It was late afternoon, and as I often did when there were only a handful of folk on, I switched off my mike and went and sat on the seat facing her so I could give her a personal tour and answer any questions as we went along. Open-top buses tend to have metal rails that run just above the seats themselves, and as I talked to her, I swivelled around backwards on my seat and leant my arm and elbow through the gap between the rail and the seat behind, so I could face her properly.

You can probably guess where this is going.

About twenty minutes into the tour, I tried to change position as I was getting uncomfortable, only to find my arm had become stuck in the gap. Never mind. Leave it. Five minutes later, still talking, I try again. Nope, it's still stuck. OK, don't panic. Coming up to a corner where I need to be standing. Give arm sharp tug. Nothing. Still have to pretend everything is fine. Keep talking blithely about Cotswold stone and foundation dates of colleges. When she reaches for her camera, I lean forward as hard as I can and try and yank my arm out of there with my other hand. I am well and truly stuck, and it's starting to hurt. Plus my elbow is going a bit red and I can't feel the skin when I scratch it. Bugger.

Eventually, after about forty-five minutes, it was time to confess. She got involved. Then the driver stopped the bus and got involved. Then the manager of a cafe got involved after both of them had tried - one pulling, one pushing, me whimpering piteously like a dog with the runs - and failed to get me out. A call to the fire brigade is mooted. My boss is informed by telephone and pisses himself laughing (thanks, Paul) - so much so, he drops his phone and breaks it. So we can't call him.
Eventually the cafe manager comes back with a big tub of industrial margarine, and my poor elbow is greased up and eventually - oh joy! - slithers free. It hurts for about a week, and I get a massive bruise.

My boss puts signs up on the buses warning of this 'hazard.' I am not allowed to forget the incident for the rest of the summer.

the end.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 13:37, 5 replies)
The hideous undead
Last Saturday it was time once again for the annual zombie march. About 50-60 of us gathered in a park, clad in the raiments of the grave and splattered in the finest fake blood we could manufacture (top tip: use cocoa powder, it makes it dry nice and realistically). At the pre-arranged time, we formed up and began our shamble - through the street market, packed with tourists, up into the centre of the city, a quick detour to the blood bank, before finishing at (where else) the pub.

The march was grand fun. We lurched and twitched our way through the city, guttural moans and bone-chilling shrieks emanating from our decaying lips as onlookers stared on, some amused, some bemused, all pulling out phones and cameras to capture pictures of the foul horde. As we neared the end of our journey, all looking forward to a pint of cold beer, a double-decker tour bus came along the street towards us. This was too good an opportunity to pass up. The bus driver must have thought so, too, because he pulled up right next to us.

The vile ranks of the undead spilled onto the road, hands clawing at the windows as we pressed against the bus, our calls for braaaaaiiinnnss filling the air. The driver of the bus was pissing himself laughing, while on the top deck, the Indian tourists aboard jostled for position as they snapped photo after photo of the necromantic swarm. For all I know, they thought this was just another part of the tour.

Our job done, the bus pulled away and we filed into the pub. I sank a few pints, had a game of pool, and peeled the latex off my face. All in all, a great day.

(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 13:36, 5 replies)
National Express
Take the national express when your life’s in a mess
It’ll make you smile
All human life is here
From the feeble old dear to the screaming child

From the student who knows that to have one of those
Would be suicide
To the family man
Manhandling the pram with paternal pride

And everybody sings "ba ba ba da..."
We’re going where the air is free

On the national express there’s a jolly hostess
Selling crisps and tea
She’ll provide you with drinks and theatrical winks
For a sky-high fee

Mini-skirts were in style when she danced down the aisle
Back in ’63 (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
But it’s hard to get by when your arse is the size
Of a small country

And everybody sings "ba ba ba da..."
We’re going where the air is free

Tomorrow belongs to me
When you’re sad and feeling blue
With nothing better to do
Don’t just sit there feeling stressed
Take a trip on the national express!
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 13:06, 6 replies)
Sir Arthur Conan Doyles rejected first draft.
Your theme this week reminds me of a story from the time before I moved in with my wife Sarah, and still lived with my good friend Mr Sherlock Holmes.

We had just finished the Mysterious Case of the Mysterious Case and the Adventure of the Purple Headed Spitting Snake of Sri Lanka, both of which I have previously regaled you with.

Holmes had spent the morning alone in his room fiddling, and came out about lunchtime to play on his violin. For some reason this morning he looked exactly like Robert Downey Junior.

"I bored" exclaimed Holmes and then walked over to the window to observe the street "However I believe that a tall darked haired gentleman with a slight limp dressed in a butlers outfit is about to offer us a job"

"Amazing Holmes" I said, how can you tell.

"Because he is standing right in front of us you twat" replied Holmes

"Good Afternoon Sirs" said the butler. "My name is Jeeves and I have come on behalf of my master Lord Baskerville. I believe his life is in danger."

Of course Holmes and I followed immedietly stopping only for Lunch, Dinner, take in a matinee performance at Mrs Miggins Music Hall experience, and a two week holiday in Skegness.

We sat on the first train out of Victoria station, with the journey to the west country planned to take only 5 hours.

"Watson, I hear that Earl Richard of Branson has plans to improve the service so that with in only 100 years it will take twice as long"

"Amazing Holmes" I replied "And are you currently wearing that Nuns outfit as a disguise against your arch nemesis Morriarty."

"No I just like the way it feels" He replied.

We arrived at Dusk that evening at Baskerville Hall. Where we were introduced to the 16th Lord Baskerville.

"Good evening your lordship" Said Holmes. "I can tell that you have recently been on a shooting holiday in the Dordogne, spent the last two days in the bathroom with a severe stomach infection and have secret desires for your housemaid."

"Amazing Holmes. How do you do that" I asked him

"Elementary my dear Watson. I just nicked his diary".

However at that point we were interupted by a demonic howl from outside.

The Lord ran and hid under the sofa, whilst Holmes, the butler and myself ran outside.

"His lordship is being terrorised by some evil being from beyond the grave" Explained the butler. "Either as part of a historic family curse or an incredibly convoluted plot to steal his family fortune from a long lost ancestor."

Then through the mist came two piercing red lights, and a sound like a revving diesel engine.

"Goodness Holmes. It looks like a possessed american style coach for going across country."
"No Watson. It is worse than that. It is the Greyhound of the Baskervilles".
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 13:02, 11 replies)
Buses are like children
Make sure you get a couple of hundred strangers inside them in one evening and when they're ten years old, take them to the local scrap heap and dump them.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 13:02, 1 reply)
Bus conductresses - was it just my dirty schoolboy mind?
Did I imagine their cheeky smiles, the slight wink, when they said
" I've got room for one on top" and " It's a bit tight, but you can come inside if you want".
Something in the way I heard "Get your change out - I'll be up in a minute" gave a twitch to me vitals.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 12:37, 2 replies)
Going back a few years I was a creature of habit and always caught the same bus to work. As a result I got to know most of the drivers. Good and bad, chatty and taciturn, they were all characters and amusing in their own way.

And then Jim arrived (real name used, I really hope he is a b3tan).

Jim was a small, neat bloke. Balding with a beard and wire rimmed glasses. This alone set him apart from the other lard addicted sweat boxes. What really set him apart was his manner and speech. He was very well spoken and totally intolerant of bad manners and ignorance. He would greet his morning customers with “Here come the happy people, move along now, cheer up you’ll soon be dead.” He would prompt them with loud pleases and thank yous, crack barbed little quips at their expense. One morning I had the reet grumps and as I got on, in reply to his happy people quip I commented that it was alright for some cunts they were already at work. I expected, but didn’t get, a snappy retort. Instead he laughed uproariously and said fair enough. He always spoke after that and often I would stand up front and chat with him. Football, philosophy, politics, management techniques, anything and everything. He was transferred to another depot at short notice and I haven’t heard of him since.

So to all the Jims out there, thanks. You help us get to work in a much better frame of mind. Shame there aren’t that many of you.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 12:17, 2 replies)
Cock shaped seats.
Unfortunately I couldn't find a picture but the Indigo bus service in Nottingham/Derby has the most blatantly phallic seats I've ever seen(on a bus).

That's all.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 12:02, 3 replies)
What did I do?
Way back when I lived in that there London, I went out on a Wednesday to have a few drinks with a mate. I'd had a shit day in work and she'd had a row with her bird, so a few drinks rappidly turned into an all-night bender.

I woke up on her lounge floor at about 8 the next morning and decided to drag my lazy carcass into work. Fortunately, I could get a bus from right outside her door to right outside my office.

So I get myself on the bus and sit in the back corner downstairs, wrap my coat around me a little tighter and, evidently, fell asleep. I say "evidently" because I didn't realise I had fallen alseep until I woke up with a start.

When I looked around the bus, I realised that everyone was looking at me. Everyone. They had all turned around and were staring, open-mouthed at me. A couple of people were shaking their heads in disgust. There were a couple of schoolkids at the front, giggling and pointing at me.

I looked back at everyone for a minute, checked to see if I'd pissed, puked or shit recently and, upon discovering I had done none of them, got up, rang the bell and walked to the exit doors, with everyone's eyes tracking me the whole way.

The bus remained in total silence until it stopped. As I got off, I heard a few people burst out laughing.

I stayed awake on the next one.

Still haven't got a clue what I did...
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 11:38, 14 replies)
Not My Story....
....but it needs to be told, cause it's brilliant. Will make you feel GLEE* after reading.


Lets hear it for Toby.

*Guaranteed or money back.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 11:32, 2 replies)
Thai bus
I just remembered, in Thailand I was on a bus and woke up suddenly, and slapped the woman next to me in the tits.

She laughed.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 11:26, 1 reply)
A public safety announcement
Attention drug-affected bus users...

If you wish to fill your Zippo lighter with fuel, whilst possessing all the manual dexterity of Michael J Fox on the waltzers, the back seat of a bus which is haring through Liverpool at warp speed taking corners on two wheels is not the place to do it.

Should you choose to ignore this information, please note that if, like the fat handed twat you are, you drop lighter fluid all over your canvas rucksack, lighting the aforementioned Zippo, then accidentally dropping it onto your rucksack because you are stoned as a cunt will render said rucksack as a rudimentary Molotov cocktail.

If the above should occur, please be aware that a plastic bin bag does not make an effective fire blanket.
(, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 9:52, 3 replies)

This question is now closed.

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