Come Fly With Me



I am 35,000 feet in the air, hung over from more travel than this tubby bastard is use to without his beautiful wife, and I am listening to Chantal Claret sing “Real Girls” and that only makes me want to find the turbo charger on the plane so I can watch my “Real Girl” as she sleeps. Damn I think my wife is hot. She will argue with me about the last statement but then again she can be so silly for such a very smart women. This blog is not about great music and greater women it’s about observations of the casual business traveler. I could make the blog simple and short and just say some folks are dumber than a second coat of paint but that would be no fun.

I’ll start with getting on the plane. It is always a joy dealing with getting into an airport. The TSA does a great job but people still want to challenge them. The TSA is like a bad ex-wife you owe support to and you need to shut up when she annoys you to avoid those monthly payments going up. You piss off the TSA and you don’t fly anymore. Hey maybe that is how I can get out of work travel. Sorry boss I ain’t allowed on to fly because the TSA guy got mad when I grabbed his ass and started singing “It’s Raining Men” while tossing edible condoms to all the people waiting in line for their personal massage before getting on their plane. People complain in line for the TSA. They bitch that it takes too long and that it is evasive. Get over it because the option of some underwear bomber jumping on the plane is worth the trade off of a genital X-Ray. Just once I would like to have the nerve to stick a large phallic object in my pants as I stroll confidently through the X-Ray. I would simply smile and so would they.

You are on your chariot to other places now and people just cannot seem to find their seat. Knuckleheads stand in the aisle putting eight different bags in twelve different overhead storage spots. I patiently wait for the inconsiderate space hog to sit down in his aisle seat and I adjust my computer bag over my shoulder and absent mindedly let it smack him in the grill as I squeeze down the aisle. Oh sorry about that sir. You are in your seat and the lottery begins. Who will the lucky badger be that gets to sit next to me? I always pull for a fellow big person. I want to be snug in my pairing of seats with a wildebeest like myself and for good reason. If two large and in charge folks are sitting in a plane they get locked in each other’s gravitational pull and their asses suction together in their seats. This is very important because if the plane goes down we will not only not fly out of our seat we will cushion each other on impact and that is a good thing. I love the part when they tell us to put our seatbelts back on during landing and I look at my big neighbor and think to myself we were lucky to have got them to lock in the first place so I sure did not take them off during the flight.

The pre take off direction is always entertaining. They say when cabin pressure drops a bag drops from the ceiling and only after you get it on your face you should help others. Listen if that happens I will get mine on but then I am sucking the life essence out of everyone else’s bag so no worries about helping thy neighbor. The next thing they say is that your seat can be used as a floatation device. Can you imagine that circus if it ever happened? You have a mask on and you could barely get in the seat in the first place to be belted in and now you are going to do some mile high Cirque Du Soliel act where you flip around and yank your seat out to go swimming? You know the flight attendant would come around and tell you to store your seat cushion under the seat in front of you anyways. I would probably hang myself on my air mask before I got the seat cushion. Let me tell you something, if that plane goes down the first thing I am doing is taking my pants off and shaking what my Daddy gave me because it doesn’t matter now even though it could prove to be awkward when the pilot pulls us out of our death drop. The next safety issue the flight attendant tends to is asking the people sitting on the wing if they are going to be able to help the passengers when the plane goes swan song? She then tells them if they are good with helping out they can find further instructions in the comic book of a safety manual they leave on the plane. If I am going to take that responsibility I want a free flight. That is a heavy duty job to take on the fly with no training. If you go to a restaurant does the waiter ask you if you could be a pal and unplug the bathroom toilet because your table is near the loo? I call shenanigans.

Children on planes are fine. I have no problem with it. I had no problems with it before I had a daughter. Sometimes kids cry on planes. They may cry because their ears hurt, or they are bored, or they are sitting next to me but they never stop crying because assholes turn around to give the parents a dirty look. Why would you do that to a parent? They want the child to hush too. Looking once is okay and natural because maybe you are just checking on the kid to make sure no Penn State coaches are on the plane. When you look the second time maybe you want to see if you can help. The third time you look is two times past rude. Do you want the parent to look at the child and scream shut your face before I boil you? All the time you are eyeballing the already embarrassed parent you are selfishly reclining your seat back on my lovely and large self. You my friend are the demi-god of assholes and you deserve a toilet crown.

Let’s get off this hell ride now. The plane made it without boiling babies and my pants are securely on. Now all the turtle brains want to stand in the aisle and try to beat you out the gate by two tenths of a second. Please drop your bag on the old lady because you can’t wait to wait. Oh yeah buddy, how’s your eye?

As I finish up Led Zepplin is humming “All My Love”. This is perfect because I can’t wait to see my loves. Fly safe. I love you all!!!


Posted on June 30, 2012, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. You are very strange, my Son.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: