Due to the budgetary constraints imposed upon me by the good people at Centrelink, I've been forced to give up my usual indolent lifestyle and get a job.

This involves getting up too early, to travel for too long on public transport that is too slow, too cold and too uncomfortable. Doing this for a month now has made me realise that what we need are rules for modern living -guidelines to ensure that people understand the important things that matter- and not piss me off in the morning.

Here, then, is a selection of my Transport Rules for Modern Living.

Rule #883: The Rule of Mornings
I hate mornings. As far as I'm concerned, any time before 11.30 am is still the night before. It is very cold, my hot water tank is not very big and my girlfriend likes to wash her hair. And, even with hitting the snooze button only three times, I will still be guaranteed to be late for work without a hearty breakfast to send me on my way - unless you count coughed-up phlegm, a cigarette and half a Xanax.

So, after a cold shower and no breakfast, I am not going to be in the kind of bright optimistic mood that wishes to share in the glory of the morning. I am going to be in the kind of half-starved, sleep-deprived rage that will seek to eviscerate you if you even think of looking at me, let alone smile. Of course, I don't say anything, I don't do anything -and would appreciate it if you did the same. Keep your chirpiness to yourself or I will bury you.

Rule #2908: The Rule of Queue
Hey pal! You see that line of people, waiting for the bus? See how they wait for each other to get on? It's called a queue. It's what separates civilised people from animals. Sure, you're in a rush, you're running late, you wanna get on. We all do. But we were here first, and we can't help the fact you're an inconsiderate, thoughtless thug. You wanna push that old lady out of the way? What about the disabled kid? Who are you? A fucking lawyer?

Rule #5098: The Rule of Argument
The bus is too late? The driver doesn't drive to your satisfaction? Take a number, friend - and call State Rail in your own time. Because when you spend 22 minutes on a packed bus on Bondi Rd arguing the finer points of the Transport Act at 7.28 in the morning, you're only making 39 enemies. Here's a solution: if you don't like it, get a fucking car. Everyone else who acts like a moron on the road has.

Rule #4982: The Rule of Seats
I admit it, I like to spread out a bit on the seat. I don't really like it when someone sits next to me on those horrible, thin, static-inducing bus seats - especially if they have body odour or loud headphones (see Rule # 7734, The Rule of Headphones). But, as noted in Rule 5098, I don't have much choice, as I don't have a car. It's a risk you take, when you catch a bus, that you'll have to share a seat, especially if it's crowded. But it's something you don't have to put up with if the bus is empty - go on, go to another seat. There's another - what? - 40 seats on the bus? You're not going to offend me if you move: I can see how uncomfortable you are sitting next to me - and if you keep sitting next to me on this empty bus, you're going to make me want to kill you.

Rule #7734: The Rule of Headphones
You're a real groover, aren't you? I bet you just love putting on that hardcore, satanic, thrash'speed metal; or the doof-doof acid house; or maybe even Shania Twain's Greatest Hits (both of them) and boogying away to the office. I don't care - the reason you have headphones is to save other innocent people from being tortured with your atrocious taste in music. So turn it down! It's worse than if you actually played them out loud. And while I'm at it, stop singing - you can't, that's why they've got a record deal and you're on a bus to a dead-end job in Camperdown. They put dogs down for less than this.

What? Sorry? Can't hear me? Serves you right, you deaf cunt.

Rule # 2134: The Rule of Egress
Hey, I know you're in a rush to get on the bus/into this lift/into this tiny little shop. But why not let me out first? That way, there'll be more than enough room for you and your fat arse, and I can be on my way. How the fuck do you think I'm going to be able to get out when you park your spare tyre in the middle of the exit door? Are you so stupid you can't even grasp the basics of physics, let alone common sense? You'll get in - this fucking shop isn't going anywhere - and you'll get on, 'cos the driver can see you, panting like a flat balloon at the door; and although he'd probably like to leave you here, he can't: it's his job to pick you up. So bloody relax! Or you will be forced to undergo an emergency liposuction on this bus for shoving me ' and it will hurt as I only have a half'chewed biro to do it.

The exception to this Rule is that the person entering has a greater right of way if the point of intersection is a public toilet, where the consequences could get messy. Hey, my friend, I know how you feel - so be my guest and get in there!

Further Rules for Mobile Phones

I hate mobile phones - what are they good for? For telling people you're running late? For being contactable at all times? Tell me this - what for? How did people ever manage before them? Maybe by being on time. And besides, who wants people to know where they are all the time? Do you take calls when you're taking a shit? (and if you do, who are you? Tony Soprano? Get a fucking grip - you're not that important).

Anyway, I have a few Rules for Mobile Phones here because they are possibly the most annoying modern invention of the last ten years ' apart from perhaps the RTA E'tag, Foxtel and Diet Coke with Lemon. Also, because on public transport, you're constantly reminded how fucking annoying they are. If you're going to use them, use them properly ' they are not a fucking penis substitute, no matter how small yours is, you limp'dick.

Rule #87: The Rule of Mobiles
You wanna bitch about your bad boss? Or whinge about your inconsiderate boyfriend? Or complain about your virulent candida? Feel free - it's a democratic society we live in. But why dontcha get a room? I don't need to hear about your banal and disgusting life on the bus - I'm busy enough ruminating and obsessing over mine. Do you talk this loud in confession? I I think not - so keep it down, stupid - or else do it on your own time, and in your own space, not everyone else's.

The exception to this rule is if you have done something interesting, like say, discovered an open domain cure for cancer. Then I might wish to overhear.

Rule # 4567: The Rule of Text
Aren't text messages great? They allow people like me to, say, let you know I'll be late again. Or, in extreme circumstances, break up with you. Did you know what SMS stands for? Short Messaging Service. Which means they're just fantastic for sending short messages. So don't write a fucking essay or try to have a conversation with me using them. Three messages is my limit - say, for example,

<I'm rning l8, there in 20>
<Where do we meet? Same place?>
<Yes. C u soon>

This is sufficient. If you text me back with <ok> I will ignore you. If you start asking me about the meaning of life, or give me a long, detailed exposition on the symbolism inherent in magic'realist novels, I will ignore you. Just pick up the phone - it's gunna cost you the same amount as all that texting! And save me RSI.

The inverse of this is Rule # 5482: The Rule of Email, which states that while I know it's not really a letter, and because it's sort of a new technology, that it mightn't have a lot of rules to govern it, like say, formal or personal letters. But it's a form of written technology, and if you can't send me a message in a complete sentence (subject, verb, object) and you insist on sending me one word mails to clog my inbox, I will block you as a spammer. Fuck you - don't you have enough work to do?

Also, don't even think about sending me those fucked group emails about lucky chain letters, or Microsoft paying me a dollar for every forwarded mail. Are you the most stupid, gullible person in the world? How were people lucky before these bloody things? Do you think Bill Gates got rich giving money away? Who gives money away apart from the Tooth Fairy? I bet you run around to ends of rainbows, or wait for pennies from heaven. Keep waiting in the rain, sucker - you ain't getting nuthin from me.

I don't want anything inspirational or cute forwarded to me. I want porn and pictures of bears eating people. The rest of it will be junked.

And if you're going to send me a joke email because you have no sense of humour or originality, take the effort to get rid of the forwarding headers and >> lines. You don't have to remember it, or even tell it well ' so why not take - what? three seconds? - to clean it up a bit? If there's more than one forwarding header - into the bin it goes. And the same for files of your children vomiting or in the bath: for starters, I don't want to see your family naked unless any of them look like Paris Hilton and they're being eaten by a bear. And if the file is bigger than 1Mb, or it takes me more than a minute to open, or - woe betide! '- it crashes my computer, then fuck you. I will hunt you down and send you an overwhelming volume of movies of my grandma with a potato in her vagina. This is the most modern form of communication technology and this is the best you can do? My gran was seriously twisted, man.

Rule #654: The Rule of Messages
As above -I have to pay for my voicemail because phone companies are run by the same bunch of arseholes who run the banks and public transport. So, I don't have the time, inclination or money to listen to you clear your throat, your sinuses, your ears- whatever! I don't care what you're up to, or how great it was to see me the other day, or stating the obvious fact that you've missed me again. Of course you've missed me, you defective, otherwise you wouldn't be leaving a message on my voicemail. Where were you born? Angola? Have you not ever left a message on a mobile or home phone before? All I want is who you are, a brief idea of why you've called, and where to call you back. When you start musing on the nature of "phone tag" or can't remember why you've called, I will hang up. I mean, it's not like you don't have time to remember ' there's a recorded intro that tells you to leave a message after the beep. You're not delivering a speech to the UN General Assembly- get it right! How are you going to be when it's time to say your last words? "Um, oh, well ' I think I'm dying ' um, well anyway..." Shut up! And die!

images courtesy of Geek Philosopher