All right, folks, in about 2½ hours, Vegas legend Samantha Gemini will be picking me up to take me to the Greyhound bus station for TEH EPIC JOURNEY TO NECRONOMICON PROVIDENCE! Then it will be 3 solid days of travel, including changing buses at Philadelphia and New York City, two pastoral locales known mostly for their kindly folks and bus passengers being killed and sold for parts if they exit the station.
Organ prices aren’t listed on the order form due to variations in freshness and possible stabbedness.
But I’m not scared of this. Well, not compared to my utter phobia about germs and people likely to carry and spread germs and not give a shit, even after taking one.
Yes, I’m talking about bus people. Not the hard-working day-to-day people just trying to exist in this go-go world. No, I mean long-haul bus people. I mean Greyhound bus people. They may all be fine individuals, but their collective infectious conditions shared over days in a metal tube with non-openable windows make them my mortal enemies.
You can’t change people—well, not without getting near them—so I have made it incumbent upon myself to overreact and create a little bubble of antiseptic bus space into which I can retreat and do my writing. If someone sits next to me on the bus, I plan to tell them that the seat is reserved for the Holy Ghost. Also my backpack, inside of which are the following:
Antibacterial stuff-wiping sheets
This is the real stuff, man, not for use on one’s skin. These kill 99.9% of germs, leaving the remaining 0.1% bitter and disheartened, vowing to come back as superbugs one day.
Official slogan: “Just use me on stuff. I will eat right through your flesh.”
This will disinfect my bus seat, chair arms, window area, toilet seat, lavatory handles, flush button, computer, mouse, and whatever else could be “guggy” (as my 5-year-old daughter Ginger used to say, very accurately).
Antibacterial hand wipes
So that I don’t end up with skeletal hands leaving me unable to defend myself through the use of my $10 zapper thing I got on eBay, I also have a TON of antibacterial hand wipes. These will be useful for my “bathroom pack” (which shall be
disgust discussed below), but also for a quick wipe that isn’t from my giant-yet-travel-size antibacterial hand wash bottle.
ALL of these are coming with me in my backpack on the bus. This is not a joke.
So okay, you think, “Hey, maybe Hoade just likes to keep his hands clean. And also every object he might possibly come into contact with. It’s not like he’s getting neurotic or anything.”
Exactly! Would a neurotic person create a special “bus bathroom I don’t want your herpes” pack to take with him into the unholy recesses of the Greyhound john? Of course not! He especially wouldn’t do this and include:
- His own toilet paper [since bus could have that zero-ply fairy-wing paper or NONE AT ALL]
- Surface wipes, hand wipes, and extra paper to turn the scuzz handle to leave the mobile shittorium
- And this, in a 24-pack, which I will be wearing all day and night on the bus and replacing each time I enter the Thunderpants FecesDome:
This also not a joke. I will soon post selfies from the road showing the depth of my phobias of “those people” and their invisible friends. I shall be wearing these.
I hope this will be enough to keep me from getting sick. My previous cootie vaccination consisting of drawing a “circle, circle, dot, dot” in 2012 proved remarkably ineffective.
In two hours now, I shall be heading out! Peace to you all, and please, for the love of all that is holy, buy a copy of Cthulhu Attacks!
Next time: On the bus!