The Old Grey Hound Ain't What She Used To Be

Several years ago, I took a road trip to Colorado on a Greyhound Bus. On the way home, the bus leaving out of Denver was packed. Every seat was filled, and the world's stinkiest man sat down next to me. I'm not talking about your run of the mill underarm B.O...No,no...I'm talking about Otis the Drunk's pee stained mattress smeared with used kitty litter stink. It was like someone dug up the rotting corpse of Neal Cassidy's stumblebum brother from a LoDo alley, where he was pissed on and puked on by every drunk Rockies fan leaving Coors Field, and then was left to ferment on the swampy banks of the South Platte. I'm not exaggerating, it was that bad. And to top it all off, he had the Ratso Rizzo Patented Tuberculosis Cough down pat as he nodded off on my shoulder. I switched buses in Omaha after about 12 hours.

But, as bad as it was, that was a cakewalk compared to these bus rides.



I'll never complain about that bus ride again.