Scoot, scoot-n, scoot, scoot - Yeah!

Okay, I need a scooter. I cannot handle the commute to work anymore. I don't have a driver's license and it is becoming more and more obvious that I never will. It takes me an hour and change to get to work in the morning - 1 bus and 2 skytrains - and an hour and a half to get home. I simply cannot tolerate the bus anymore. I can't. Seriously. Don't make me.

If you know anyone who is selling a scooter that is nice and safe and requires no license to drive -- well, then for God's sake, help me!

If you're a scooter maker I will tattoo your corporate logo across my tits if you'll gift me. Just think about it.

Transit

To the woman in the Kelly green trenchcoat on the #99 bus this afternoon:

I hate you. Really, I do. I hate how you talked on your cellphone and took up two seats -- one for your own useless self and the other for your drycleaning. The bus was packed. An older, frailer woman had to stand beside your shitty plastic-coated Gapwear. Everyone gave you dirty looks. You knew that everyone on that bus wanted to see you disemboweled and you didn't miss a beat. You kept on gibbering into your cell phone and pretending to stare out the window. You're an asshole, but you may have the biggest balls out of anyone I've ever met. I hate big balls.