I love riding the bus. Can you smell the sarcasm in that sentence? Actually it isn’t so bad, at best it is entertaining. Yesterday morning while standing at a bus stop at Western and Peterson, the man standing behind me farted, a loud and generous fart. I know it was him because we were the only two people there. I turned around, and looked at him. He just continued staring down the street, looking for the bus. After we boarded the bus I noticed something. Up front are seats designated for cripples like me. I never use them, for that would be admitting my shortcomings. Instead, I continue towards the back of the bus and sit with the rest of the rabble. Not so for certain people, people who are not really handicapped. I’m talking about fat people whose only handicap is that they eat like they were born on an Iowa pig farm. This morning there were three humongous sows taking up six handicap seats. This would normally piss me off except that the farting man sat down right next to them. Unfortunately, they probably couldn’t even smell the aroma over their own.