Sodding bus drivers

Why are you so fucking miserable when people want to get on your bus? You get paid not a bad wage (18k in Bournemouth) to drive like a total cunt because no-one dare crash into you for fear of death. The purpose of your job is to get people from A to B, so when they ask you to halt your imperious progress through Southbourne long enough to get on your bus, LOOK A BIT FUCKING HAPPIER ABOUT IT.

If you were the bloke today on the 1C at 8.40ish through Southbourne with a face like a bag of smashed twats, kindly tender your resignation immediately. Not only did you scowl at people for getting on, you actually played chicken with people trying to stop you by driving towards their stop so fast that you can only have been assuming they wouldn't DARE put their arm out for fear of losing it. Well, news just in, cuntbag - slamming on the brakes so hard that those of us on the upstairs deck were actually weightless for 15.4 seconds doesn't help anyone either.

Ironic though, given the speed at which you hoon around the town, that you find time to stop and chat with your chavvy bus-driving mates through the window WHEREVER YOU HAPPEN TO MEET THEM.

And while I'm on the subject, just because you spend all day looking at your hands/forearms while you contemplate exactly where your life went so wrong does NOT make it a good idea to decorate them with as much Elizabeth Duke bling/ homemade tattooing as possible. It makes you look like an even bigger cunt that the fact there is an old woman at the back of your bus who has been trying to get off since 1985 but hasn't made it close enough to the front before you wheelspin away from the stop like Lewis Hamilton, projecting the poor osteoperosis-riddled cow back into her seat at the rear.

The only bus driver exempt from this rant is the fit young blonde one who hails from somewhere in Eastern Europe, who sometimes does the 1c or the 4a/b on saturdays. I like her, and would do her in the following order of preference

Face, bum, minge.