Yesterday the esteemed Mannogod Reverend Speats, who's performed legendary humanitarian work in Denmark and Turkey without ever leaving the bathhouse, sounded off on a certain genus very dear to my heart: Shitbricking Playdoh-brained oblivious gleeful assholed suckers of cock--specifically, shitbricking Playdoh-brained oblivious gleeful assholed suckers of cock who occupy too much precious vinyl space on Los Angeles transit buses. I've felt the squeeze from both ends, where you have to either splay your pretzel-configured arms and eyeteeth against a grimy window where someone's etched HILL ST TRESE 01, using the fossilized gum to dot his I, followed by a list of said firm's (like The Firm, as in Foxxy Brown's "We the firm, baby!") board of directors; or experience the spinal jolt of half-cheek, where you're kinda sorta in the seat, kinda sorta sitting on oxygen. Why? Because you're forced to share with the Human Scissors, who's performing a bored form of the splits while either sleeping or just in general exercising his birthright as a shitbricking Playdoh-brained oblivious gleeful assholed sucker of cock, which is akin to being asleep forever, occasionally disrupting your slumber with a series of excited grunts, lethargic gasps, and gaseous bursts of numbing nothingness. If they're wearing earphones, they're usually listening to Nelly. If there's a cellphone anywhere on their girth, chances are it'll bleat a happy cucharacha or the first six notes of "Dre Day" at least 12 times during the ride, followed by 17-minute conversations that begin "Sup, fool? Yeah. Yeah. Ah told that bitch ah be there 'round six. She trippin'. What Alexa say? What Alexa say? I say what Alexa say? OH, SHIT! OH SHIIITDAWG! Later. Ican'talkrightnowahmonthebus. What? Naw, man, what? OH SHIT! DAAAAAYUM!" And if you're lucky, it'll be one of those fashionably ire-rousing two-way walkie-talkie jobs where you can feast heartily upon both ends of the ass.