Give The Gift Of Dublin Bus Porn

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Brightening up our streets .

For a quarter of a century.

Frank Carroll writes:

I am a Signwriter at Freeney’s Graphics in Tallaght, Dublin  (you’ve featured some of our work on this page under ‘Dublin Bus porn’) we are now launching a book about our work over the past 25 years of painting buses.
It’s full colour, 256 pages and coffee table sized (10 x 11.5 inches) and is a part of Dublin’s transport history.  Judging by the interest shown already we think this book will be very popular with anybody who has an interest in Art, Signs, and Buses. As a thank you to Broadsheet we are giving your readers a chance to win a signed copy of this book .

Just send in your best/worst/funniest story about a Dublin Bus journey….

Lines MUST close at 12.45 1.45 5.45

Freeney’s Graphics

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42 thoughts on “Give The Gift Of Dublin Bus Porn

  1. garthicus

    I once fell asleep downstairs at the back seat on the nitelink, somehow I had curled myself up into a ball so the driver must have missed me. When I woke, the bus was moving but all the lights were off, I walked up to the driver and knocked at the window, he almost died with the fright.

    Anyhow; he was a sound chap and drove me out of his way and dropped me at the bottom of my road. Not all bus drivers are cranky!

  2. Limey Tank

    One day, in primary school, I had the BEST surprise ever. A big coca cola bus had pulled into the school yard and we were off to Dundalk for a tour of the bottling factory.
    Conor puked the whole way. They gave him 7-up to calm his stomach.
    We all got a can of coke.
    We all got a pencil case.
    We watched bottles exploding on the line as they were being filled.
    It was ACE!

  3. Spaghetti Hoop

    Crawled onto the first bus out of town one Saturday morning after a humdinger of a party – about 7am it was. Tucked in behind the stairwell, naturally I fell asleep and missed my stop. The 67 travelled all the way to Celbridge, then back into town, out to Celbridge again, back to Conyngham Road Garage where it changed to a 26. I woke up at the 26 Terminus at 12:30pm, about 5 mins from my house. Most adventurous sleep ever. Thanks Dublin Bus!

  4. Achille

    Recently, on a packed afternoon 77a, a young baby was thrust upon me by some woman who was busy on her phone shouting at her ‘fella’, I held that screaming child for an excruciating 40 minute bus journey…good times, good times…

  5. Limey Tank

    On a nightlink home, some extremely drunk young lads got on the bus having robbed napkin holders and the huge straw holders from Burger King. One of the lads got sick on the floor and there was much groaning from the other passengers. One of his buddies took a single napkin from the huge holder under his arm and dabbed daintily at the corners of his friends mouth. To everybody’s surprise they went to work cleaning up and the mood on the bus lightened considerably.

    A few minutes later, the same chap went green again. This time he grabbed the straw dispenser dumped the straws and got sick into it. Some wag from the back of the bus shouted “Would you like a straw with that?, much to everybody’s amusement.

    Then I got off the bus at the wrong stop and had to walk for ages.

  6. noel

    in 1993, I worked with a man in his 50’s that had never drove into dublin city. On his return to work, he was asked how he got into the city centre.

    On the N4, he spotted a dublin bus with the sign for city centre at a stop, he pulled over in front of the bus, and waited for the bus to continue. He then proceeded to follow the bus, pulling in every time the bus did. After 4-5 stops, the bus driver gets out to find out why is he been followed. the bloke in the car near sh*t himself, not thinking he might be acting suspiciously, tried to explain that he didnt know way to the city centre.

  7. Owen

    I used get the dart to school so when I made it to college I had to change to the bus. I obviously got the bus 100’s of times before, but never to college. It was my first day, I was all excited to meet new people, meet girls, act like a grown up etc. I got to the bus stop and only then did I realise I didn’t know the fair. I walked onto the bus with a hand full of coins:

    Me: I’m going to UCD
    Driver: (in a droll monotone) Congratulations.

    He laughed, the people around me laughed, I blushed. Every day (well, when I made class during his shift) for the following few years I got a ‘UCD?’ question off him. Top man!

  8. Gary Crant

    I once sat downstairs at the back seat of the 66 on my way into town

    for whatever reason i decided halfway thorugh the journey that i fancied a seat upstairs and proceeded to move

    10 minutes later i hear a smash as a brick is flung at the bus as we pass through palmerston

    When i arrive in town i walk downstairs to find the brick went right through the window i had been sitting at

    true story

  9. Big Mad Bond Fan

    When I was 16, I used to go into town on the bus and I would pay the child fare (under-16s). The driver never questioned it. One day, the inspector got on and looked at my ticket and looked at me and looked again at my ticket and looked again at me. Then he said “How old are you?”. I thought quickly and said “I’m 16 today”. Technically, I hadn’t told a lie. The fact that I had been 16 the previous day and would still be 16 the next day wasn’t mentioned by me and he didn’t think to ask. He said “Well, from tomorrow on, you need to pay the adult fare”. And I did!

  10. EP

    My mam is from Fairview and has three close friends from primary school that she stays in touch with, but all four of them live outside of Dublin now. So they year of their 50th birthdays, they all decided to meet up in Dublin for the weekend. They stayed in Fairview and – all dolled up – off they went to get the bus into town for dinner. Unbeknownst to them, however, those exact fare machines that you drop the money in had been introduced on the buses in the meantime.

    My mam’s friend Frances: 4 singles please.
    Bus driver: You’ll have to use the machine.
    The ladies look confused.
    Bus driver: It’s voice activated. You have to tell it what you want.
    Frances (bending down so the machine can hear her): 4 singles please
    Bus driver: Ah no, love, you’ll have to say it louder than that
    Frances: 4 SINGLES PLEASE!!!

    Rest of the bus: In stitches
    The ladies: Morto

  11. Mani

    One time I was on a bus and it transpired that if it’s speed dipped below 50 miles an hour a bomb would detonate killing everyone on board. Well, As you can imagine, things got rather hairy but it all ended up well although I hear the aul lad from Easy Riders died as a result. Funny old world.

    1. Spaghetti Hoop

      Luckily a brick flew threw the window at Palmerstown and Gary Crant saved the day by lobbing it on the accelerator.

    2. Aido

      Almost the same thing happened to me. Except it was a milk float which would explode if it went under 4mph. My friends tried everything; saying mass, watching the Poseidon Adventure, saying another mass, to no avail. Luckily, Jack’s pet brick came to the rescue and saved the day. We never found out what happened to Pat Mustard though.

  12. CoxswainLovalot

    How ’bout the time there was a lad trying to inject smack into his mickey on the 78a? It was all in vein.

  13. Robbie Loughlin

    A mate of mine ‘had a few’ and on the way home with insects in a box ( a pre scoops shopping excursion for his lizards and such) in his hand and post session McDonald’s, he got on the nitelink, sneaking the insects and late dinner on too….after a bit the driver stopped the bus ran up stairs and told him loudly to get off the bus ‘cos he was eating!!…After a bit of too-ing and frowing, he got off the bus, none too pleased.
    It was just as the bus was pulling away that my mate realised he had left the box of insects on the bus and was now running along side the bus banging on the side of the bus shouting at the driver “give me me crickets…me crickets….me bleedin crickets are on the bus…give me me crickets”….
    The bemused driver decided not to stop (I wouldn’t have blamed him!) and kept going!….so my mate was now taxi bound with a nitelink fare, and a box of crickets lighter. He never did find out what happened to the crickets!

  14. 3stella

    When I was going to college I used to change my photo Id on my bus eireann pass every week to all sort of animals, people, current, unlikely and famous, every morning the drivers would never notice as I waved my pass that I was a sheep, Elvis, Maggie Thatcher and such, until one day a inspector got on and threw me off for tampering with my bus pass saying I wasn’t a hamster.

    1. Mani

      If we’re including Bus Eireann, years ago on the Limerick bus from Cork I had the opportunity to sit across from a delightful couple who were quite in their cups and dressed as if they were attending a Daly Thompson convention. During the early part of the journey I could hear the gentleman remark to his paramour ‘Cmon cmon, no-ones lookin’, to which she would respond ‘No, no’. Rather quickly she acquiesced to what transpired to be a rather vigorous hand job (Oh the easy access of track suit bottoms, those Olympians know what they’re about!). I look around for moral support but no-one in the vicinity was paying attention. Ten minutes pass. 15. Now the conversation has taken a turn ‘Careful. Careful. You’ll get it all over me top’ quoth he. ‘Ah sure you have a clean one at home’ she rejoindered. At this stage all I’m worried about is collateral damage. That once he has arrived I am going to be the madrassa to his trouser’s terrorist camp. Also, I am rather impressed by his staying power. Eventually he arrives rather loudly. ‘Ah its all over me’ says she. He just giggles. I am left untouched, like Clampers at an orgy. I walk unsteadily off at my stop several minutes later.

      While round two kicks off.

      1. 3stella

        Technically Mani we should as Freeny’s do/did the wraps for Bus eireann as well,

        My Dublin bus one is, we were coming back from oxegen on a Dublin bus special, and the driver took a wrong turn coming out in the dark and started to head up the hills towards Blessington, as the road got steeper, narrower and branches started to scrap and bash off the top deck, the driver had to throw in towel stop on a ever narrowing boreen, reverse the whole bus into someone’s cottage drive get out and ask where he was and how to get back to Dublin to a bus full of people chanting Your lost, your lost….

  15. Locomia

    It was early September, 2001. Dublin was enjoying a decent few days of sunshine, DJ Otzi was ruling the radio waves with Hey Baby while Jason McAteer’s goal against the Dutch and the crumbling of the Twin Towers in New York were just days away.
    I was seventeen; I was enjoying life and, with the help of a borrowed ID, was attending an 18th birthday party in Annabel’s nightclub in the bowels of the Burlington hotel.
    I was also accelerating into a learning curve.
    Guinness was the tipple of choice for the evening. It was being served in a plastic glass, the head was yellowed and claggy, and reminded me of the suds that gather at the base of dribbling locks on the city canals. Not knowing any better I quaffed away.
    I had one too many of those putrid pints and following a whirlwind adventure (probably a gurgling vomit and an escort home) I woke up at in my bed without the faintest idea of how I got there. Still a little jarred/poisoned from the evening’s entertainment, I bounced out of bed and sifted through the pile of clothes on the floor, found my trousers from the night before and checked the pockets. Wallet was present and intact but devoid of hard cash. My keys were missing. House keys (later found out that I had awakened mother in the wee hours and had to be put to bed), bike lock keys and school locker keys all gone. Balls.
    I immediately concluded that I had left them in Annabel’s and, with naive visions of a friendly bar wench dangling the keys on her finger just waiting to hand them back to me, I left home to catch a bus back into the Burlo and retrace my steps.
    It was early on Sunday morning, but the sky was clear and the sun was out, and soon the top deck of the bus where I had settled began to fill with folks on their way into town. As sobriety started to break through what had initially been an almost euphoric haze, I began to swelter and felt the first rumblings of unease in my gut.
    Nausea soon started to pass through me in waves, I was sweating and probably didn’t smell like roses. The bus at this stage was almost at capacity as we neared town and I was penned in at a window by a fellow traveller. Panic took hold of me as I felt the inside of my cheeks flood with saliva. I looked desperately around me, pleading for one of my top deck comrades to prise open a window and let some precious air circulate around the deck.
    Looking out the window I saw we had stopped in the middle of a junction, waiting for oncoming traffic to pass so we could make a right turn. The traffic seemed endless. We seemed to be stuck in the middle of that junction for an age. I needed the bus to start moving and get to the next stop. I needed it now.
    I decided I should go down and tell the driver what I needed. Fresh air and motion. I stood up in my seat and as I went to excuse myself past the young girl on my right I realised that if I opened my mouth to speak I would only encourage the flow of vomit. I pushed past her quite abruptly and made for the stairwell. My cheeks suddenly puffed out as a stream of schorching spew flew into my mouth. I held it in. I staggered, suddenly intoxicated again and without balance, to the drivers cabin and banged my fist on the glass. We had started moving again, and I managed to gasp feebly, “Please can you open the door?”
    I needed to be outside, I needed fresh air. The driver, obviously concentrating on making his turn only glanced quickly at me and asked what the hell I was saying. My response was to unleash a thunderous stream of vomit on the side of his cabin and all over the step well at the front of the bus. The doors were slung open, glorious cool air and bright light came flooding in. I stumbled into the brightness, not knowing, not seeing. I careered across the pathway and struck a low wall with my shins. I fell forward, unable to raise a hand to slow my descent. My face struck the tarmac on the other side of the wall and for a moment I was unable to move, my feet still atop the wall, my face scraping against the ground and my arms behind me. Finally I managed to roll around, look back at the bus and survey the carnage.
    The vomiting had ceased but my shirt and trousers were soaked in it. My right eye had already started to swell, but I felt remarkably better and took to my feet again. Looking to my left a woman and her young child, who had initially come over to see if I was OK, were retreating in horror. Beyond them the bus had reached its next stop some 100 yards away and was being evacuated, through the rear doors of course. It was then that I noticed with dismay that the entire junior rugby team from my school, along with my geography teacher (who doubled up as coach), were among the alighting crowd. I would later hear how they roared and cheered as they watched me rolling off the bus with fountains of puke pouring out of me in all directions. Not exactly my finest hour.
    Anyway, following a quick scrub in a nearby public toilet, I continued on my quest to the Burlington. Of course the nightclub was closed and I was given a pitying and slightly derisive smile when I brought my enquiry to the main hotel reception. The keys were never found. Regarding the black eye, mother was told that I had been the victim of an unprovoked assault during my trip into town.
    Since then I have often thought about the man driving that Dublin bus and how much of an impact I had on his working day. I thought about how someone would have had to clean up the mess I left on board. I thought about all the passengers who had to witness my downfall and then suffer the inconvenience of being booted off the bus and having to wait for the next one or walk on.
    I’m not too proud of the whole event and I’d like to take this opportunity to apologise to the bus driver (I’m sure he’s reading this) and all the other folks who suffered because of my behaviour.
    I don’t want the parachute – give it to them.

  16. Andy

    i have tried and tried and tried for the last hour to remember a funny bus story, none of which are coming to back to me other than when I was 10 my brother took me into town on the bus. It was him and I and two girls on the upper deck. So being ten, I was delighted. Until one of the ladies urinated on the back seat. I never sat upstairs again!

    I think your book looks so cool and I wish you well with it!

  17. Cobweb

    Back in the nineties,bringing my young lad on the No.10 on his first trip to Dublin Zoo.All along the North Circular there was piles of rubbish left out for the corpo’s junk collection.As we rounded the sharp turn onto Infirmary Road there was a wad of brown mattress stuffing on the roadway and the young lad shouts out,”Da,there is a dead monkey on the road,we must be nearly there”.

  18. Turnipseed

    I remember going into town on the 16 one Monday morning. I was sat on the top deck, near the back of the bus. And the guy behind me was inhaling heroin or coke off foil. Sitting across the aisle from him was a girl in school uniform who he struck up a conversation with. He asked her her age (17) told her his (21) asked her about her school and told her about how he’d given up on school years ago.

    Seems nice that Dublin Bus put that ammount of effort (hiring the guy, getting fake drugs, etc.) into encouraging inner-city kids into staying in school.

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