Buses in New York are a special kind of hell. Unlike trains, they force us to deal with annoyances like traffic and stops that are two blocks apart. But like trains, they provide us with many colorful and exceeding obnoxious characters.

This past weekend, my friend and I rode the bus back from the movies and had the pleasure of sitting in front of a gentleman who leaned halfway out the window for most of the ride calling to various women “Hey girl,” in rapid succession. Of course, these women were flattered and eager to have sex with him.

Next, he turned to the unknowing woman who sat down next to him and asked, “Can I borrow your phone? I wanna call my baby mama.” (For the record, she agreed, but at least had him dictate the number before she handed it to him.)

The lady who procreated with him must be very lucky indeed. I can’t wait for the poor child who shares genes with him to grow up with a father who calls his or her mother his “baby mama” and learns to leer at women on the street, too.