You Sure Can Pick 'Em
So, I was riding on the bus. Had a comfy front two-seater and my backpack, lunch, sweat shirt and water all neatly arranged around me. You sat right in front of me, turned to the side so I could see your profile, and stuck your finger way up your nose. I knew you were gonna pull it out and examine it, probably eat it too . . . and I knew if I looked, I’d throw up my breakfast. I looked the other way—but that guy was touching himself. I had to grab all my stuff and move to the back and jam all my stuff on top of me in one seat. Thanks a lot, Mr. Booger Man!
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