A recent problem with the radiator on my ’96 Saturn SL2 transformed THE Green-Love-Machine into a smoky death trap that spurts oil and growls whenever I put Adam Lambert on the radio. This led to my first encounter with the bus (where there’s still growling if I play Adam Lambert), and a greater understanding of the human condition, which I also refer to as “leave-me-the-h***-alone-itis”.

The thing about riding the bus is, unless you’re a hot chick or you’re handing out 100-dollar bills, nobody cares what you have to say. I know some of you may be tempted to change the balance of things by speaking to the person next to you. All I can say is this:

PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. DON’T DO IT.

Here’s why:

Reason 1. You’ll probably get rejected anyway. The guy who grabbed the seat next to you is just waiting for an excuse to blast you in the throat with his nun-chucks (the weapon, not to be confused with the upcoming action film starring Jackie Chan as Mother Teresa).

Reason 2. You’ll get extra-rejected if you talk to members of the opposite sex. They’ll probably think you’re flirting with them and blow those rape whistles they’ve been carrying around since the Antoine Dodson video. Remember, to most people, saying, “I like your shoes,” is just the polite way of saying, “I want to plaster my bathroom walls with photographs of your toes.”

Reason 3. If someone does talk to you, they’re probably insane. The only people who make conversation on the bus will follow you home and watch you through your bedroom window while you do your homework and watch “Reno 911!” reruns. They’ll make sculptures of you out of macaroni and glitter them with the ashes of their dead cats. Here’s a helpful tip: most of these folks have red hair.

Reason 4. You have nothing to gain from interacting with humanity either. It’s not like making friends or brightening someone’s day ever got anyone anywhere. Your time would be much better spent tweeting from your cell phone about how you think your cat caught mono from the neighbor kid or gazing longingly at the apricot stand out the window.

Oh, and you really shouldn’t thank your bus driver on the way out either. I mean, that guy already gets enough thanks from the robot butler on the Yacht/Helicopter combo he bought off his pay raise last year.

But that’s enough chastising for one column. So let me leave you with one last word of advice. Next time you’re on the bus – look for the “no babies on top of enlarged hotdogs” sign above the driver. I kid you not, it’s right there next to the “no robots” sign.

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