Rockafeller Skunk

 

 

Hi lovely eight twenty four-ers!  Its been a few weeks, I've now fully recovered from my Italian transport adventures and back in the gloomy UK!  I'm missing the intense heat of Italy a little bit.  Waiting at the station this morning I was freezing and wished I'd worn long johns under my tights!  I'm shivering, I think its because I'm practically Italian now.

This mornings journey was very uneventful, so much so that I fell asleep with my face squashed up against the window.  I'm ashamed to admit that I drooled also.  I'm pretty sure that people waiting to get on the train as it pulled into other stations declined to board, assuming it to be some form of special train for adult learners.

So, I arrive at my stop, my bright red squashed face sporting a little dried in dribble and start the walk to work.  Nine hours later and I'm back at the platform for the journey home, I'm depressed.  Its getting dark and the dark, quite frankly bores me.  Its dull, (obviously) weirdos come out, everything looks so flat and 2 dimensional and I instinctively think its time for bed at 5pm.  I love going to bed when its light.  There's something about climbing into bed at 10pm and the the last remnants of sun pour in the window.  Now, my mother will attest to the fact that when I was little I'd have to be dragged kicking and screaming to my bed when it was light.  There was just too much nonsense to be getting up to, and I was at the age where the cover of darkness was boring.

So, anyway, I digress.  My train pulls into the platform and I wait for everyone to get off before getting on.  I can't be bothered to stagger down the carriage and sit in a double empty seat right next to the door.  I'm on my own, and I get my book out and loose myself in the world of FBI agents, murder and lies.  I'm blissfully unaware that we've pulled in to the next stop and people have boarded until I feel someones leg brush mine.  Awkward.  Its a dude but I can't see his face as he's sitting at a stupid angle.  I curl into the window and carry on reading and ignore him.

All of a sudden my nose begins to twitch.  I think I can smell a rotten smell, and of course I begin to sniff to check.  Yes, I can definitely smell a rotten smell.  I continue to sniff just to confirm that the smell is still there.  It smells like pure dung.  The corners of my mouth turn downwards in disgust (I'm still sniffing)  it smells like a thousand egg sandwiches have been opened and I begin to retch as quietly as I can.  
 

The man next to me moves to get up, even though were in between stations.  His bum lifts from the seat about a foot and he sits back down again.  Its him, he's farted.  I can smell it as the full force of his anal assault hits me square in the face.  My mouth is open and I feel the gas creep in and swirl around violently inside.  I see the pages of my book flutter and curl inwards from the nuclear fallout.  I half expect to see oxygen masks fall from the ceiling.  I make a mental note that if they do, I will not be helping others before placing my own mask on, that's what they tell you on British Airways anyway and I reckon they have it sussed.

I can practically see the gas seeping out of him.  The hairs up my nose feel singed and my lips are stinging.  I pull my book up to my face and try to inhale the smell of paper and ink but it makes it worse.  He turns himself round and sits side saddle on the seat, which only serves to disperse the smell in another direction.  He now has his back to me and I feel like painting a thick white stripe down his back.  Skunky bastard.  

 

My face feels like a melted welly and I contort it in a way that I never knew I could before.  I try to move in every direction in order to find a pocket of air like sonic the hedgehog underwater. Its futile and Dr Eggman has defeated Sonic with noxious gas from the ass.  I know I'm in cattle class but I didn't expect it to actually smell like cow pat.

I darent open my mouth again for fear of toxic inhalation.  I try to hold my breath but I'm useless.  I try breathing through every other orifice but I'm afraid I might accidentally let one off myself so I stop.  I have no option but to breathe through my mouth.  I think I can already feel blisters on my tongue, I'm sure I don't have eyebrows left either.  Hair may never grow there again.

I gulp breaths when I have to and just when I think I'm about to pass out we pull into a station and he gets up.  Inside my heart is jumping for joy, I've never been happier.  My new found joy is crushed when lifts his arse and disperses the remainder of the stale gas he had been sitting on and leaves a trail of devastation in his wake.  I look around for any children who may be carrying recently won goldfish in bags to get a handle on how serious the fallout is.

Just as were about to pull away from the station I notice a dead pigeon on the platform.  Irony.  I'm pretty sure its supposed to be canaries they sent down to check for gas?  Either way, were all fucking doomed.

A. Passenger