I’ve spent so much time cloistered away that I needed to see if my disturbing remembrances of society still held merit, or if the length of my self-imposed isolation had amplified my revulsion for the stinking animals that call themselves Human.

The moment my ass hit the seat, I was astounded at the degradation of self that was evident from nearly every person around me. The complete and utter lack of a sense of dignity was appalling, and I was shocked to the brink of nausea.

In the back, there was Cain the drug addict, clearly wracked by his own fetid habits. Appropriately, he was accosting the Whore of Babylon who sat next to him. She stole his wallet when he was busy arguing with his inner demons. The irony struck me as sad, but oddly humorous: a whore pinches a crack-head’s wallet. Sounds like the start to a bad joke, but sadly, it was all too real.

In the middle, sat a business man with his head on the window. Tie loose and akimbo, ill-fitting suit jacket wrinkled and shirt beneath stained with some sort of sauce. He looked so tired of life that I would swear I could hear him thinking about suicide or begging to be shot dead in an ally. Looked like he was going to start crying right there in his seat. Probably drunk, the worthless shit. Probably needs to be. I hoped he was not married. I dearly hoped he’d failed to breed.

Just do it, you wasted shit, I thought to myself. Just get off the bus, find a railway line, and lay down. It’s not really that bad after the initial impact – barely a sensation at all. You really won’t feel a thing. Just make sure your head is on the one rail – use it like a pillow – then set your body all comfy cozy straight across the ties, and raise your feet up on the other rail. Get comfy and then make certain you’ve had enough liquid courage: wouldn’t want you getting all fidgety and running off at the last moment. No ... then, tomorrow, we’d just be back here again, wouldn’t we? Just relax, drink, and lay down, you sad, worthless, wasted, drunkard.

There were others equally sad and pathetic: insignificant, yet dreadfully, fearfully endemic. One caught my attention a few blocks from when I’d boarded.

She was sitting across from me, and she was so ponderously obese that one had to wonder at the enormity of her greed – the breadth of her gluttony. She sat astride two separate seats, and spilled over the forward edge so one wondered how she balanced her girth!

I, for one, do not buy the “glandular disorder” claptrap that is foisted on us all by the medical community, nor do I blame the medical community for their apparent empathy for the disgustingly obese.

It is unfortunate, but the obese simply want validation, not a remedy. You can tell them all day long to eat sensibly and exercise, but they will simply blame their problems on one thing after another. Eventually, they insist that there must be something wrong. The medical community can only do so much before they must accede defeat and admit that they can do nothing – it is glandular. Therapy is needed. You have a disease.

Alcoholism? Stop drinking you fool! What’s that? You can’t? Did you try? I know we’ve been through this for years, but you really should try. After a while, you can only buckle under the abuse and say to yourself and the world, “Well, you’re a diseased person. You have a disorder that you can not control. Poor thing. Group therapy should do the trick – go to AA and get yourself some validation.”

Drugs? What the hell did you think would happen when you tried that joint? What about that snoot full of coke, you damned idiot? Think that was going to break your dependence on marijuana? And the acid you’re dropping? Oh, that’s right … so you can forget the coke addiction. Got it. Self esteem issues, poor thing. I feel for you. Let’s clap you in a room and call it therapy – 30 days detox and rehab for you. Group therapy again … go to NA this time … go on and get your fix.

Validation is the worst drug of all, yet the most often prescribed. Group Therapy. Group Meetings. Group Hand jobs, for Christ’s sake! Ego Whores, the lot of them!

But back to the sow across the aisle from me on the bus. She was – of course – stuffing her face with a donut, while at the same time complaining to someone on her cell phone that she couldn’t find any cute outfits on sale at the local shopping mall. She was loud and gregarious, as if she was alone at home, talking to someone in the next room. You know the sort – you know the volume and disregard for others.

Or perhaps she was trying to yell through the flab of her portly face. It’s possible, I suppose, but I’ve honestly no idea. In any case, judging from the hollow and disgustingly wet, gurgling sound of her breathing, it was evident that conversation was a strain. Not surprising when one considers the enormity of will it must take simply to waddle onto the bus, let alone walk through a shopping mall, looking for cute outfits.

I was transfixed by the scene, and frankly, I couldn’t help myself. Out of sheer morbid curiosity, I leaned forward, motioned gently for her attention, and, as politely as possible, asked “Excuse me, miss, but are you referring to cute outfits … um … for yourself?”

“Yeah, what of it?” she replied, as if I was an intrusion on her life. I was caught of guard. With that bulk, and with her callous, loud conversation, surely she had to realize she was inviting random participation! She should certainly have realized that she is an intrusion on virtually every life she came across. The disgusting pig was wallowing in my life … in my space … and she was annoyed? My surprise gave way to annoyance, and I could feel the anger rising in me.