The 36 Bus

There was this guy who was needing a shite. But sadly he couldnae go as he was stuck on the top deck of the 36 bus coming back fae the town. Wee farts wirnae helping at awe. Wisnae even at Stepps yet. The pain was getting worse and worse. Thought about jumping aff at the next stop but that would have been suicide. He had tae hold it in.

He was sweating. Hands and arse clenched, feeling every bump of the road. He was going tae fucking explo-

“Here, whits the matter wae ye? the bus seat asked him.

“A need a shite,” he whispered.

“Whit kind?”


“A wee wan? Big wan? Runny wan? Whit kind a shite are ye needing?”

“A dunno. Feels like a big wan.”

“Watery? Ye ate a bad curry or somethin?”

“Naw. Normal wan.”

“Ye sure?”


“Awe right, calm doon. Right, jist go.”


“Jist go. Don’t worry. Am due a new cover the morra morning. Jist dae it.”

“A cannae jist shite on a bus seat.”

“How no? A gave ye permission did a no? It’s fine. Dae it quiet n nabdy will know. Slide it oot and I’ll shake it on tae the floor when ye get aff the bus.”

“Naw, a cannae ji-”

“Jist go. Jist go and get it over wae. Go! Go! Go…”

The guy couldnae think straight and decided fuck it. He pulled doon his joggies, cleared his throat tae drown out the noise and shat his lungs oot. A flood a thick brown water splattered awe over the seat. After a few seconds he heard the screaming fae the bus seat.

“Ya dirty bastard ye shiteting on that per bus seat,” an auld guy said, sitting across fae him and wacked him wae a walking stick.

“Make him eat it,” said the bus seat. “The cunt said it was jist a wee normal wan.”

So the old guy and a few other heroes, including the corpse of a pigeon, held him down until he started eating it. Crying his eyes out so he was. Some ned stabbed him an awe for good measure. Deserved it but. Clatty bastard.

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