Gerrymandering Won't Fit In Scrabble

Jun 03

Effort, 12 Points

I’m too uninspired for a real blog. Here’s my speech that I had to prepare for English.

There are many a thing in this life that can really get you down. No Jaffa Cakes left in the packet. When the store runs out of Marge Simpson shaped condoms. When the website that streams the latest series of Gossip Girl fails to load, or when the girl of your dreams would rather fantasize about stroking the silky smooth hair of Justin Bieber instead of stroking your…

Anyway, in my most humble opinion, worse than all of these things is the daily torture that some of us have to face when we give up our souls to Dublin Bus. The ordeal begins standing, freezing, on the kerb of some forlorn street, waiting in anticipation for the 32 or 31 or whatever, all the while trying to ignore the trenchcoat-and-reflective-sunglasses-wearing sixtysomething eyeing you up a few metres away. Plus there’s a 30% chance it’s already raining. The longer the wait, the more you start to assume that you have, in fact, arrived too late and missed the bus entirely. The longer you wait, the more unconfortable you feel and the broader the smile on the man’s face becomes.

The moment you see the bus turning around the corner, a sense of relief washes over your whole body. You can finally escape from the mysterious pervert and you now know you won’t be late for your date; whether it be skirt-shopping with Ciara or a romantic dinner with Natassja which quickly escaltes into a wild and furious doggy… walk in Stephen’s Green. However your troubles are far from over as you now have to attempt to purchase a ticket from the bus driver.

Here’s a quick profile of a typical Dublin Bus conducter, a description which I’m sure many of you will be familiar with. Male, obviously. About 50 years old. Bald. Speaks in quite a rough dialect of English. Pretends to be deaf to get you to scream your order. Sexually frustrated. Probably impotent. Enjoys causing others pain. And you just know that when you step onto the bus, he’s secretly thinking “Get in loser we’re going shopping” or “Janice I cannot stop this bus. Curfew 1 o’clock”. And who does he think he is? I like INVENTED him, you know? And it’s not my fault if he’s like, in love with me or something. Let’ face it. He’s a life-ruiner. He ruins people’s lives.

After your ordeal with Damien the bus driver, you attempt to locate a seat. Fortunately, you have a choice; you could sit next to the sexually-ambiguous-genderless-middle-aged thing in the corner, or you could choose to stay near the front but risk being roped into a conversation with the ever-present old women about their efforts to rejuvenate their sex lives or where to buy the latest brand of stewed prunes. And you just know that whenever the bus lurches (often) one of them try to reach out a grab your ding-a-ling, SUPPOSEDLY by accident.

And even after you leave the bus, you’re still at risk of that dreaded phone-call. Ring ring “Hello, Natassja?” “I can’t go out. Cough. I’m sick”, and you have to suffer through the whole ordeal again.

So in conclusion; there are many things in this life worth waiting for; the inevitable Justin Bieber sex tape, Natassja screaming in agony as she gives birth to your first child, or the equally inevatable Jedward sextape. But waiting for a Dublin Bus is not one of them.

I’m here all week.

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1 year ago