"Read it before you die!"

So last Friday, I was on my way home on the...er...149, minding my own business reading Londonstani by Gautam Mulkani. It was late because I had been at a colleague's leaving do. The bus was pretty rammed as usual and stank of the alcohol seeping out of drunk people's sweating pores. So there I was, sitting down, and reading, when a pissed girl in front of me grabbed my book to see what I was reading.
"Whass 'at then?" she slurred.
I held it up so she could get a better view.
"Whassit about?"
"Well, it's about disillusioned Asian youth in...." but before I could finish my sentence she blurted out: "Norwegian Wood!"
"I'm sorry?" I asked, now aware of several fellow passengers' eyes on us.
"Norwegian Wood! It's AMAZING! Yeah, wicked, Norwegian Wood. Can't remember who it's by. Mura-fammy-or somefink. "
"Murakami?" I said.
"Yeah, that's the one. Norwegian Wood. It's the best book ever. It's a bit fruity, know what I mean? A bit saucy! A bit of naughtiness! Norwegian Wood - write it down!"
"I think I can remember it" I said, thinking, you've said it enough bloody times.
"Do you know what my favourite book of all time is?" she asked, arms and legs all over the place, mascara smudged.
"No, what is it?" (I know, I know, dumb to encourage a drunk person)
"Norwegian Wood! It's by some bloke, Mura....er....something funny. You should add it to your list of books to read before you die, right."
And so it went on for about ten minutes.
As we approached my final destination, I hastily said: "Oh this is my stop."
"Mine too!" She shrieked as the people around me burst out laughing at my misfortune. "We can carry on talking about this great book I've just read. It's called Norwegian Wood. "
"No shit", I thought....

Open the doors

The other day was a swelteringly hot day in London and the 149 was particularly crowded. We were all crammed on to the bus and not getting anywhere fast - the bus was stuck in traffic. We were about 20 metres from a bus stop where loads of people get off and one man was getting rather impatient.
"Why doesn't the driver just open the doors now?" he asked his fellow passengers.
" Come on mate" he yelled towards the front of the bus, "open the door. I'm sweating like an Afghan on terrorist charges here!"

Most of the bus tried to suppress laughs as they guiltily thought they shouldn't condone such turn of phrase.