Day 106

Dear Diary,

I gotta check in The Official Handbook of Community Bus Rules and Responsibilities, the updated version, on account of I don’t think wot I’m putting up with at the moment is in my job description. And if’n it is, then the handbook ought’a be re-titled Rules of the Road for the Truly Dumb and Disturbed, cuz between you and me, this here insanity is crazy and I don’t wants to be here and I wants to go home and hide under the bed. In fact, between last time we talked and now, the world’s got so dysfunctional that I’ve spent most’a the time with my headlamps closed so’s I wouldn’a hafta look at anything worse’n the insides of my eyelids. However, seeing as you got a callous heart and loves nothing so much as a slasher movie and ain’t got tender sensitivities like wot I has, I’ll give you a few of the highlights, starting off with the sight of all them biddies wot were strapped into my back seats getting their mouths sealed shut with extra heavy duty industrial sticky tape. Mind you, it really didn’t do that much good, on account of the heavy-duty tape wot they’s manufacturing in the here and now don’t stick two pieces of paper together without them falling apart, and that’s before they’s stuck ‘em together. And believe you me, keeping the traps shut of a busload of biddies is about as tough a job as a inch of tape’s gonna have in its livelong days. In other words, the tape didn’t work and the biddies a’kept on squawking and complaining and phoning the call centre to ask for their money back, even though this here adventure tour was one of them freebies wot the marketing department gives out so long as the passengers agree to sit through a twelve hour promotional movie ‘n’ fill out a shitload of them feedback forms so’s the government department wot regulates wot old folks can and can’t do can serve the country better.

Anyways, after they finally sealed the biddies’ mouths in the closed position with industrial strength super-glue and strips off’n a burlap bag, they lined them up single file and ordered ‘em to take off their clothing, on account of the sweet ‘n’ sour marinade don’t work so good if’n it has to contend with polyester old biddy day-out-on-the-bus fashions and big-girl nappies. Naturally, the biddies said “bite me, you losers” outta the sides of their mouths where they didn’t got their new teeth yet from the Free Health Services For All folks, and they crossed their arms over wot used to be their paps and refused to do wot they’d been told to do. However, a coupl’a them, them wot’s got senses of humour, batted their eyelashes and said okay they’d strip naked as newts, but only with a little help from a dozen or so hunky young studmuffins outta one o’them calendars, on account of they’s the only mens on earth wot’s got equipment blind old biddies can see without them special magnifying glasses. Further more - and this is straight outta Mrs. Drain’s mouth, and she never bends the truth more’n a little - this aforementioned tasty juicy equipment of theirs is the only stuffing machines on the planet with the overall girth-wise capacity to make the trenches of some o’these biddies, especially the ones wot’s had thirty or ninety children, tremble like the earthquakes on the San Andreas fault. Now, whether this is strictly true or not, or just an exaggeration for the benefit of Dear Diary, it sure made everyone laugh, even Masther James Dean Leroy Pubis Elvis Athuritis Huckleberry Hackensack, who as I said before is a twelve years old walking pimple pustule wot thinks he knows everything wot’s ever been knowed in the world. ‘Course, between you and me, his knowledge don’t cover jackshit about nothing outside the inside of his designer slacker boxer shorts. But as I was about to say, Masther James Dean Leroy Pubis Elvis Athuritis Huckleberry Hackensack was guffawing and little bits o’white foam was collecting in the corners of his mouth, and his pimples was bursting like the volcano wot ate Pompeii and he were whacking the dickens outta hisself on account of he hadn’t done it in the last five minutes. And while he was doing’ this, Mrs. Drain thought she’d teach him a lesson. You gotta remember she use to be a teacher way back before the world was born, and she knows all about them adolescents and wot they get up to. So wot she did was take out her recorder, which is always good for a laugh and makes everybody feel like they’s back in the classroom, and she started in a’tootling some o’that stripper music. And at the same time as she was a’tootling, she was gyrating her flab ‘n’ wrinkles and slithering outta her blouse and skirt and last of all, her all-in-one underwear corset garment wot’s advertised on TV when you’re eating your dinner. Now at this point I gotta gloss over some of the details, on account of it’s in the middle of the day and parents are watching wot don’t know as much as their children. Anyway, to tell you the truth, I may have fainted for a few minutes while this was going on, on account of I can take only so much embarrassment in a single afternoon, and because of this I don’t know wot happened next or whether Misther God threw one of his thunderbolts and put a stop to the show. Sorry about that, Dear Diary. I let you down and I apologise.

In spite of my blacking out, I do know something must’a taken place, only from wot I’ve heard it weren’t anything like wot Mrs. Drain was hoping for. You see, the old darling’s got about a million yards of extra skin left over from losing three hundert pounds on one o’them miracle diets, and that means that no one could tell from looking at her that she’d took off her clothes. It were like seeing a gynormous pinkish beige moo-moo with brown polka dots wot somebody’d forgot to iron. So, in other words, it were all a waste of time and unfortunately for her, the whole thing pissed off Miss Elly May Suzy Honey Wagon, who just so happens is on the same miracle diet, only without the results to show for it. Well, before you knew it, she’d grabbed Ol’ Mrs. Drain’s recorder off of her and threw it into the sea and then she took out that six-shooter of hers and shot out my other front tyre just because she has a right to bear arms and hadn’t shot up any schools since yesterday. Well, you can take it from me that’s when I blowed my top, and I floated on over to her on the tide and picked her up with the secret mandibles wot I keeps in my perfectly shined and polished chromium grill, and I crunched her up into tiny bite-sized morsels and spewed ‘em into the sea so’s the krill’d have something to eat for dinner.

Not this is more or less wot the situation is now: Your Host Misther Bubba Lee Billy Bob Huckleberry Hackensack has been ordered by Masther James Dean Leroy Pubis Elvis Athuritis Huckleberry Hackensack to put all them old biddies into a big old plastic bag full of sweet ‘n’ sour barbeque marinade, and to let ‘em sit inside there for half an hour, or until they’s tenderised. ‘Course, this is just one more example of wot a dumbfuck he is, on account of you ain’t never gonna tenderise no biddies, not even if you bash ‘em for three days with one of them tenderising hammers. Other than that and the fact that the Texas touron’s are starving and getting mean, everything’s quiet. All in all, it’s been a nice day, and I’m gonna sit back and see wot happens when they tries to stuff the biddies into that there plastic bag. Between you and me, Your Host Misther Bubba Lee Billy Bob Huckleberry Hackensack and Big Bubba Lou Axe Blade “Mad Perkins The Matchstick Bomber”, wot used to be his brother in law before I did wot I done to Ol’ Miss Elly May Suzy Honey Wagon, are gonna have their work cut out for them. They may’ve got more muscle between their ears than a whale’s got blubber, but biddies’ve got biddy power and no one’s ever beat it yet. So why don’t I just put away the new pencil you got for me and enjoy the show. And when it’s over, I promise I’ll resist the temptation of writing “so endeth the Your Host Misther Bubba Lee Billy Bob Huckleberry Hackensack and Big Bubba Lou Axe Blade ‘Mad Perkins The Matchstick Bomber’ versus The Biddies Show,” on account of only the most pathetic chickenshit in the world’d write such a thing and not hang his head in shame.