Maximum Yumminess on public transport? Well that's what you get when a little 5"2' ball of goodsiness can curl up in a lap and fit sideways on the bus seat, and nap the whole ride from town back to city.
It's also a translation problem when gostosa, Queen of Positiveadjectivium, presides over all that is good (as food is good), nice (as a day is nice), and the whole underling slangang i.e. tasty, yummy, pleasant etc. But this Queenie, when incarnated, got a nasty side. Because gustosa ain't a good person, ain't a nice person. When gostosa is applied to a lady, it means, I got to say, b-b-b-bangin', and for a gent, 'buff'.
But forget all that.
Ya'll don't know how strictly I speak when I say Gostosura Maxima, way we use it, is in its own world: t-to-the-r-o-p-i-cali- us. For us, it's a state, achieved in mutuality (please say that word as if you were will.i.am before you were behind the front on all that is tasteful) a state where the yumminess of bodies at rest, bangingness of being, is maximized.
This particular session, or invocation, beautiful as it was achived on the Brown Bird coach bus pictured above, reportedly was marred by some rumblings about a left arm flexed for an hour in support of a head, an elbow going sore where bone met armrest under said head's weight. There was also some mention of a shoulder wedged into a stomach, bringing up a steady sucession of burps, but these were silent cries heard by none in the forest of seatbacks, and especially not by the log-sawer lying horizontal. Such imperfections effectively did not exist, and the obvious achievement of G.M. was celebrated when both participants were again awake.
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