Hola amigos. What’s goin’ on at your end? It’s been a long time since I’ve rapped at ya’, but I’ve been busier than a horny dog at a leg convention. See, I’ve been working at Sandy’s, a place way on the other side of town. They serve burgers and steaks and sandwiches. I try not to work Fridays, ’cause that’s fish fry night, and nothing’s worse than trying to wash fish fry grease off of plates. Then, the customers get their greasy hands all over their glasses, and I have to wash greasy glasses. All that means I gotta change the water every 15 minutes instead of twice a night.

I figured out that the best way to get out of it was to tell my boss that I had a church group meeting that night. (She isn’t named Sandy. I only seen her once, and she ragged on me for having long hair. I shoulda walked right there, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.) Man, they bought that—hook, line and sinker! When they ask me how it went, I tell them all fine and talk about stuff like how I shouldn’t steal and chase whores and stuff. I look all holy on the outside, but inside I’m bustin’ a gut laughing. What a bunch of saps!

Anyway, I hate busting suds, but at least I get free food, and the cook does the fries just how I like ’em. The biggest problem with it is the location. Now, ordinarily, I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about where it was if I had functional wheels, but I burned out my clutch on the way to see Unmasked, a Kiss tribute band that plays in full make-up and even breathes fire. That sucked big time. Not only did I lose my precious wheels, but I also missed out on my chance to see all those hot chicks that pop up at Unmasked gigs. I don’t know if you can tell by my picture, but a lot of people tell me I look like Vinnie Vincent. I would have gotten some tail for sure!

So I got no car, but I still have a job that’s about three miles away. I sure as hell ain’t walking that, hombres. Jim Anchow-er never walks! So what are my choices? While I hate being a dish dog, I need to get my automobile back to its original status. That all adds up to one thing: the bus, and no one ever got laid by taking the bus.

First time I take the bus since I got my license, I had to wait 20 minutes in the cold before it actually shows up. When it finally showed up, I made for the far back seat, as far from the driver as I can so he can’t scope on me. No one else was sitting around me, just five other people sitting in the middle minding their own business. That’s just how I like it, too.

Things are going just fine for the first mile and then we stop to let on a bunch of kids. They all come back like they’re the shit and sit by me. They’re all talking trash about how drunk they got and which ladies they’re going for, but I’m not paying attention to them ’cause they’re just a bunch of kids. Live and let live, that’s my motto.

Apparently, they don’t share my enlightened philosophy, ’cause one of ’em tries to bum smokes off of me. “Sorry, man,” I say to him. Maybe I had some, and maybe I didn’t, but I wasn’t letting these punks get the better of me, so I played it off all mysterious.

Then one of ’em says, “What’s with the hat, dude? It’s, like, too warm for that.” I tell ’em that they’d do best to mind their own business if they didn’t want to step over the line. They sit all quiet for a second, then one of ’em grabs it off of my head and throws it to his friends. “That,” I say all quiet and smooth, “was not smart.” I grab the kid that took my hat to give him the business, and one of his friends comes up and pulls up on my underwear band. Man, I practically invented the undie grundy, so when one of these little dickweeds did it to me, I went ballistic.

I turned around and grabbed him, and I was just about ready to make his nose flat when the bus driver stops and yells at me to quit picking on the kids. I try to tell him that they took my hat, but he ain’t hearing any of it. The kids are laughing their asses off, which just makes me more mad. I grab my hat back and mouth the word “later” at those punks. I swear, the looks on their faces was priceless. They had the fear of Jim put in them plain and simple.

Just then, I looked out the window and saw that the bus had just blown past my stop. I got all mad and hollered for the driver to stop. He slams on the brakes and gives me a look like I’m troubling him to do his damn job. I give him a look back and storm off the bus. Man, bus drivers are just cops without badges and guns and fast cars and sirens. They suck!

I look back to the bus and the kids were looking at me all funny like they were expecting my head to pop off. I let them know just what I thought of them by giving them the bird. Just as the bus started pulling away, I put on my hat and they all bust out laughing all of a sudden. Sure enough, they had loogied in my hat. I was so pissed that I could hardly talk. Plus I was late to work and I got a demerit point.

I tell ya, the moment I get my car back in working order, I’m going to find that bus and drive real slow in front of it so the driver gets all pissed off. Then, when I know those kids are riding it, I’m going to follow it until they get off, and I’m going to whale the shit out of them until they apologize for doing that to my favorite hat.

Take it from me, amigos, you’d do best to stay away from the bus. Unless it’s the magic bus like the Who sang about in their song “Magic Bus,” which, when you think about it, is probably about weed. Maybe I’ll ride that bus, my friends, but I’m never riding the normal bus again, and you’ve got the Anchower guarantee on that one.