Smokin' hot driver aside—you ain't got the scratch for a plane, or even your own ride, so you're still stuck in this festering aluminum shoe box known as a Greyhound bus for the next 16 God-forsaken hours.
And if the stench doesn't get to you, the other passengers just might. So before you get cornered by a senile octogenarian with a wallet full of pictures of her dogs children, or some dude with an odd tick talks your ear off about 7 Minute Abs, establish your dominance within the bus hierarchy by out-crazing everybody around you. Here's what you'll need to get to Yuma with at least some of your sanity intact.
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