BUS CROWDED - STOP - YNGMAN LONGNECK PLAITENCIRCLED HAT APOSTROPHISES UNKOWN PASSENGER UNAPPARENT REASON - STOP - QUERY FINGERS FEET HURT CONTACT HELL ALLEGED PURPOSELY - STOP - YNGMAN ABANDONS\DISCUSSION PROVACANT SEAT - STOP - 1400 HOURS PLACEROME YNGMAN LISTENS SARTORIAL ADVICE FRIEND - STOP - MOVE BUTTON - STOP - SIGNED ARCTURUS

... at about midday in the Parc Monceau district, on the back platform of a more or less full S bus (now No. 84), I observed a person with a very long neck who was wearing a felt hat which had a plaited cord round it instead of a ribbon. This individual suddenly addressed the man standing next to him, accusing him of purposely treading on his toes every time any passengers got on or got off. However he quickly abandoned the dispute and threw himself on to a seat which had become vacant. Two hours later I saw him in front of the gare Saint-Lazare engaged in earnest conversation with a friend who was advising him to reduce the space between the lapels of his overcoat by getting a competent tailor to raise the top button.

IT ALL HAPPENED ONE DAY...

THE NEWS SPREADED FAST BECAUSE OF A TELEGRAM THAT WAS SENT...

More and more people got to know about this happening. Reactions started in several parts of the country...

A man who read about this in the newspaper complained on twitter:

Cup lowers la'r, guess wo'? A
sees ve fust young bleeder agin walkin'
up'n deahn ahtsoider ve Garsn Lazzer, arkin' to anuvver young Froggy a-jorein' 'im
abeaht a bleedin' bu'en.

So A'm stand'n n'
ahtsoider vis frog bus when
A sees vis young Froggy bloke,
caw bloimey, A finks, 'f'at ain't ve most funniest look'n' geezer wot
ever A claps eyes on.

Bleed'n' great neck,
jus' loike a tellyscope, strai' up i' was, an' ve titfer 'e go on 'is bonce, caw, A fought
A'd 'a died.

Six foot o' skin an' grief,
A ses to meself, when awlver sud'n 'e
starts to come ve ol' acid, an': "Gaw bloimey,"
'e ses, "wot ver ber-leedin' ow yeh fink
yeh adeouin' of?"

'E's tawkin to annuver bleed'n'
fawrner vere on ve bus pla'form; ses 'e keeps a-treadin' on 'is plites awler toime, real narky 'e gets, till vis uvver Frog bloke turns roun' an
ses, "'Ere," 'e ses, "oo yeh fink yeh
git'n' a'? Garn,"

'e ses, "A'll give yeh a pro'r
mahrfful na minute," 'e ses, "gi ah a
vit." So he does, pore bastard, 'e does a bunk real quick deahn ve bus wivaht anuvver word.

And how did they experience this? Well, I'll show you:

Well, the bus arrived, so, I got on. Then I saw, you know, a citizen who, caught my eye, sort of. I mean, I saw his long neck and I saw the plait round his hat. Then he started to rave, at the chap next to him. He was treading on his toes. Then he went and sat down.

Well, later on, I saw him in the Cour de Rome. He was with a pal, and he was telling him, the pal was: "You ought to get another button put on your coat." .

YOU KNOW

YOU KNOW

YOU KNOW

YOU KNOW

YOU KNOW

YOU KNOW

YOU KNOW

YOU KNOW

YOU KNOW

YOU KNOW

YOU KNOW

YOU KNOW

A poet was very inspired because of this happening and wrote a poem about it:

LiveTyping.com

Then, this writer had a dream that same night...

WHERE 
DOES IT 
LEAD?

I had the impression that everything was misty and nacreous around me, with multifarious and indistinct apparitions, amongst whom however was one figure that stood out fairly clearly which was that of a young man whose too-long neck in itself seemed to proclaim the character at once cowardly and quarrelsome of the individual. The ribbon of his hat had been replaced by a piece of plaited string. Later he was having an argument with a person whom I couldn't see and then, as if suddenly afraid, he threw himself into the shadow of a corridor. Another part of the dream showed him walking in bright sunshine in front of the gare Saint-Lazare. He was with a companion who was saying: "You ought to have another button put on your overcoat." Whereupon I woke up.

Goodness! Twelve o'clock! time for the bus! what a lot of people! what a lot of people! aren't we squashed! bloody funny! that chap! what a face! and what a neck! two-foot long! at least! and the cord! the cord! I hadn't seen it! the cord! that's the bloody funniest! oh! the cord! round his hat! A cord! bloody funny! too bloody funny! here we go, now he's yammering! the chap with the cord! at the chap next to him! what's he saying! The other chap! claims he trod on his toes! They're going to come to blows! definitely! no, though! yes they are, though! go wonn! go wonn! bit him in the eye! charge! hit 'im! well I never! no, though! he's climbing down! the chap! with the long neck! with the cord! it's a vacant seat he's charging! yes! the chap! Well! 't's true! no! I'm right! it's really him! over there! in the Cour de Rome! in front of the gare Saint-Lazare! mooching up and down! with another chap! and what's the other chap telling him! that he ought to get an extra button! yes! a button on his coat! On his coat!

O in the bus
O in the bin
th'yomnibus S
th'yomnibussin
which with percuss
and hellish din
goes on its way
with us within
nearth' Parc Morceau
nearth' Parc Monsin
in the sun's glow
in the sun' glin
Monsieur Andre
whose neck's too thin
wears a hatuss
wears a hatin
in th'yomnibus
in th'yomnibin
At this hatuss
and this hatin
is ribbonless
is ribbonlin
in th'yomnibus
in th'yomnibin
and what is muss
and what is min
there's an excess
of bods therein
and this Andre
whose neck's too thin
starts to inveigh
starts to invin
against a cuss
against a kin
in th'yomnibus
th'yomnibin
but this same cuss
but this same kin
za bit too tuss
za bit too tin
and says his say
and says his sin
on th'yomnibus
on th'yomnibin
and our Andre
whose neck's too thin
goes by express
goes by exprin
in the bus S
in the bussin
a seat to let
his arse sink in
A seat I'd let
my arse sink in
I the poet
gay Harlequin
and two hours after
I saw him
at Saint-Lazare
at-Saint-Lazin
the station? yeah
so spick and spin
him, that's Andre
whose neck's too thin
I heard him say
"O pardon min
my dear old pay
my dear old pin
for my buttuss
for my buttin"
quite near the bus
quite near the bin
Now if by chancetmy
tale you grin
since happiness
was born a twin
then take no restand
take no rin
until from far
until from finn
from the bus S
from the bussin
you too your eyes
should chance to spin
on that Andre
whose neck's too thin
& his hatuss
& his hatin
& his buttuss
& his buttin
in th'yomnibus
in th'yomnibin
th'yomnibus S
th'yomnibussin.

That same night, they dreamt about this happening

Lot of clots! Today round about midday (goodness it was hot, just as well I'd put odorono under my arms otherwise my little cretonne summer dress that my little dressmaker who makes things specially cheaply for me made for me would have had it) near the Parc Monceau (it's nicer than the Luxembourg where I send my son, the idea of getting alopecia at his age) the bus came, it was full, but I made eyes at the conductor and got in. Naturally all the idiots who'd got numbered tickets made a fuss, but the bus had got going. With me in it. It couldn't have been fuller. I was terribly squashed, and not one of the men who had a seat inside dreamed of offering it me. illmannered lot! There was a man beside me who was quite smart (it's the latest thing, a plait round a felt hat instead of a ribbon, I'm sure Adam must have written up this new fashion), unfortunately his neck was too long for my liking. Some of my friends claim that if one part of a man's body is bigger than the average (for instance a nose that's too big) it's a sign of marked capacities in another direction. But I don't believe a word of it. In any case, this gentlemanly creature seemed to have the permanent fidgits and I was wondering what he was waiting for and when he was going to say something to me or extend an exploratory hand. He must be shy, I was thinking. I wasn't so wrong at that. Because all of a sudden he started to pick on another man who looked horrible anyway and who was purposely treading on his toes. If I'd been that young man I'd have punched him on the nose but instead he quickly went and sat down the moment he saw a vacant seat and what's more it didn't occur to him for a single moment to offer it to me. The things that happen in the country of Gallantry! A bit later, as I was passing the gare Saint-Lazare (this time I had a seat) I caught sight of him arguing with a friend (quite a nice-looking boy I must say) about the cut of his coat (extraordinary idea to wear an overcoat on such a hot day but it does make you look correctly dressed of course). I looked at him but the idiot didn't even recognise me.

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