I acknowledge that I am on the threshold of pale exhaustion and some kind of whiny forever-sickness that's got me hacking up black particles. Regardless, that doesn't change my polar experiences with the Seattle Metro bus process.

Today's experience ran on the foul side. I wanted desperately to arrive home and grind up some dried tofu and mix it with chicken by-product. I'd throw the concoction into a stainless steel cat bowl that was two days tuna-encrusted and I'd get down on all fours and plant my face straight into it. I'd consume the fodder ravenously and without conscience. I'd clean my face, not by napkin -- but by rapidly flapping my head side to side. The bits and chunks of tofu mash with chicken by-product would be flung from my face, freckling the surrounding walls and carpet.

Then I could freely snarl and spit, sneer and growl, and ride angry buses or drive angry cars and run over people ignorantly. Then I'd have subject-verb agreement between my neo-cortex and flesh and the bus thing would never tweak me again.

While waiting for life that sucks to die, why not listen to my favorite unsigned bands: TQ's Garage Band Playlist.