The reign of the international secret language as a dear Scot-ling put it, is over and it’s time to let the language of the rulers and fat slobs take over. This entry might be offensive to a variety of people, so please don’t read it and have your husband to come ask for clarifications for it when obviously you’re merely too inbred of a person to have developed brains to understand everyday life.
That’s a good prologue for a text that should be about flying. To reel you into to the story, I’m in a country which was abandoned by McDonald’s so I had no interest in extending my stay although a notably good proposition, with words like 200$ and New York were included, was made towards my direction.
As well as airports, I’ve always enjoyed flying and airplanes also. I’ve missed a flight and sometimes the food had not been so good and all that jazz and all those complaints about babies, airplane food, kicking the chair and fat people, in my mind was exaggerating of the minor unfortunate events. That was until I was seated into the air-hovering tuna can for 7+ plus hours with ALL THAT JAZZ.
Before I was even seated, I was triumphantly welcomed to the flight by a choir of super-sopranos (stop watching the mafia shows and read up on basics of music theory). In the two rows behind me, there were three babies and on top of all that directly behind me was, apparently, the son of Samuel Eto’o. You do rest of the brain work. In front of me was a darling twosome of yankee doodle boys who were around 8 years of age. Now, I have nothing against dumb kids as long as they can shut the fuck up or keep their volume to a 5 or less (ten being the max.) but the only thing enabling that is sleep or heavy-dosage drugging… preferably both. Sleeping was out of question because of the angelic choir (angel of death is an angel too, you know) and if there’d been any drugs around, I would have made it my quest to not to let those dear boys consume them but dispose the “easy-sleezies” in a proper manner. How thoughtful of me. In all fairness, I’ll give all the 8-year-olds one more loophole to get away with their behavior: If you’re gonna talk loud, talk about something interesting such as how funny it is when every day as dad leaves home, one of dad’s golfing buddies come and mommy lets you watch videos when they are doing adult stuff upstairs which I’m not allowed to disturb. But NOOOOO; it has to be the same boring 8-year-old shit every single time! And when there are two it’s even worse: “Can you do this? Don’t touch me! This is my side. My dad has this and that/ is so strong. I like this and that and since you don’t like it you’re stupid.” Just fantastic, don’t you agree? I already told you that I got the taste of what was coming to me before and right after I was seated, well at that point I had nobody sitting next to me. In the last one boarding the plane was a German (Bavarian) couple. How could I tell they were German and more over, Bavarian? Picture Oktoberfest. You know the clothes they wear. If I’m not totally mistaken, that is of Bavarian origin (do correct me on comments, I have other things to do and reasons not to research traditional German clothing styles). The man was wearing the hat! With the feather and everything. He also had the suspenders on, probably not because of his willingness to express his national pride (can you imagine a German person expressing national pride. That’s something you don’t come across that often) but because of the fact that they don’t make belts suitable for him. Oh, my mistake; they do but they call them garden hoses! Which brings me to the next issues: They were huge! Now, I’ve thrown the f-card around a lot but this was exactly the kind of situation Gabriel Iglesias described and the correct description concerning their figure is: “Awww, HELL NO!!!” As they trembled from the nose of the plane to the back of the plane, I foresaw what was to be my final destination. To paint the picture, the man was like a fat John Goodman and I’m not talking about the newly weight-lost John Goodman but the good ol’ mountain of a man John Goodman. Think of that, but go bigger. I know it’s hard and really puts your imagination to the test but I’ve seen it, it exists! On top of all that, the man looked like John Goodman’s character in Big Lebowski. Who knows, maybe he was just a stunt-double who’s been unemployed for 12 years. What about die Frau then? Surprisingly, she too shared the facial and quantity similarity of John Goodman. Although the first five minutes of my grounded plane experience had been as mentioned, I was able to think positively and figured that at least there won’t be any disagreement over who gets the armrest. At that point, I was happy if I had half of my seat. I have to admit also, that this was the first time I was afraid to be flying in a plane. I wasn’t afraid of flying, crashing or having your balls bitten of by a shark after crash-landing into the ocean but the thought of the woman falling asleep and tilting her head toward my direction….
Other than those, the flight was alright; the food was not free, it was cold and expensive. I bought a 10 euro sandwich and a 4 euro beer which, once it hit my mouth, felt like a cum shot of an angelic-like creature (make your call; good or bad?). I was also glad to find out that the Bavarians took interest in what I did because more than once they pointed at me and said, what I think was, sweet things. I wasn’t happy because they were talking about me in a language I don’t want to understand but for the fact that they could see me under that girth.
Do I still enjoy flying as much as I did before? No.
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