"my. (whapwhapwhap!) culo. (whap!) really. (whap!) can't. (whap!) (whap!) (whap!) handle. mu(whap!) ch. (whap!) (WH-thump) more. (whap!) of. (whap!) this."
i grimaced as my ass was again angrily beaten by the "padded" seat below. "why, why.. . did i choose this seat.." as i tried to drift off to sleep, only nightmares.
spectral snarling mustachioed leathermen were spanking me from another dimension. howard stern's huge smiling face next to a womans shuddering pink rearend suddenly burst into mind. i shook my head and opened my eyes, trying to clear the image of the episode where he paddled cosmetic surgery addicts and threw
mayo covered slices of baloney at their asses. after some thinking, i realized my decision to sit in the FRONT of the bus, right above the front wheels, where the suspension's dampening was weakest, was based on a conversation with "..those 2 freeking neohippy girls in Hanoi ..." with the patchwork pants, the bandanas, garish finger baubles, the culturally schizophrenic assortment of ethnic clothing, the talismans, the toe rings. i could hear julie, the one wearing the Eritrean shell
that warded off negative energy and flying vermin saying to me: "oh - get a seat in the the front- you can see the whole countryside!" undoubtably, they had been harboring a secret resentment of me. i had fallen into their trap. i had to admit - it was brilliant.