Actually, that's just my nickname for the fellow. When he boards the bus he holds his hands close enough to his eyes that no one can catch them, and runs off-kilter at high speed to the back of the bus. It's an amazing performance. But I'm probably not the only person who has a nickname for him. The other frequent passengers on that line at that time of day undoubtedly have a pet-term for him too.
On the other hand, Little White Nipple Dude is, thanks to me, now often referred to when people talk about him as 'Little White Nipple Dude'. The name stuck.
The two of them should meet up.
They belong together.
The day would not seem incomplete without them.
My working week includes both of them.
Today it also included loud screaming and rabid growling. From the gentlemen in the back watching the ball game.
I myself did not watch -- homoerotic displays do not interest me -- but judging by the wet spots on the comfy chairs the hometown team won. Santa Clara can be proud of them.
The shiny golden buns beat the powder blue buns.
Maybe that's why Stumblety-Bumblety didn't board the bus this evening. He stayed home to not watch the game. And remain unexposed to giddy boys.
Little White Nipple Dude came in after it was all over, tried miserably to make conversation, and failed. My colleague elicited the information that he's forty seven years old now.
I believe his wife and daughter are still imaginary.
It was a very long day.
Noisy.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
A DUMPSTER FIRE OF TWITTERY
Often while at work I get to hear the sour old dingbats in the backroom spouting Republican drivel and venom. Which does not leave me positi...
No comments:
Post a Comment