music mobile, anyone?

I kid you not.

Bar bus. Music mobile. Pubby public transport.

Cool at first sight with its faux white leather upholstery and plush velveteen deep maroon trimmings. There're even makeshift bartop stools and counter, for cyring out loud. And an MTV screen for that cheapo free cable treat.

All who boarded went wide eyed, starry eyed, bewildered eyed. Including yours truly.

BUUUT when the bus starts loading up fat (re: stupid smelly passengers unlike meticulous moi) like a thin man with too much ribcage and spare bones and not enough room and NO love handles for grip or purchase.

Aha - that's when trouble brewed.

Passengers didn't have enough grip or seats. Lots taken out and replaced with the plush furniture.

Corner seats were damn cramped and uncomfortable and the stupid fucking obviously oblivious smelly uncle with the stinking to fucking high heaven bag of fetid fish made the ride home worse.

The bar stools creaked, wobbled and threatened the fair slim hirstute angmoh with the oversized shades to topple his face smack into the bulging groin of his standing bald army fatigue muscle-T Chinese toyboy with the tak-glam scowl of a face. Not that Hirstute Harry or Toyboy Thong would mind one long bit if it happened.

Leg room is so sparse, my sharp knees almost went into Iraqi invasion defence mode with another woman's ugly fat Yankee thigh.

The music was fucking loud annoying and irritating - can't take four winks or hear myself swear at all.

The driver, a nitwit with a nasty kid penchant for stamping on brakes like he was grinding cockroaches, probably gave his highway code instructor cardiac arrest who in turn failed him, stomped a hard brake and sent a young girl into a 180-degree semi-swing while hanging her fingers on the handle. Her fucking holier than thou grouch of a chow-lao friend griped all the way.

With me sitting next to her.

Mood-o-meter at the time? So much as breathe thinly on my skin and I'll dig out your eyeballs...

Verdict?

Presentation: 7

Experientation: 3