Indian Buses
Possibly the worst* part of my backpacking journey around India were the buses.

Imagine a metal box designed to hold thirty people, but crammed with about seventy people, arses in your face, too bloody hot, hurtling down a mountain side with no protective barriers to stop you plunging to a horrible doom and no brakes.

With diarrhoea.

Not my finest experience.


Imagine being in one of these aformentioned buses, driving through a desert, narrowly dodging people on motorbikes and then gazing to the side of the road and seeing upturned, burned out wrecks of other buses.

Not good.

Imagine after two weeks of agonising stomach cramps, travelling on one of these buses with a turd in a little polystyrene cup, trying to not look at the buddhist monks who are wrinkling their noses at a suspicious smell as you desperately seek a doctor.

Great days.


*apart from the con men, packs of wild dogs, random monkey attacks and a scooter accident.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 22:50, 2 replies)

your turds were formed
enough to go in a cup? wow? did you encounter the bumfroth, where you (feel like . . . I have no way of knowing for sure) are just blowing bubbles from your sphincter?
Thought I'd never have a solid shit in my life again after that country
(maggotriddendirtbox fast, feral and sharp as a tack since, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 0:38, closed)

arse gravy
is the best way to put it.

Although in the latter stages, i did manage to conjur a solidified turd for examination by the doctor who then told me to 'throw it away'.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 7:40, closed)