I recently had the pleasure of flying home from Vancouver. I went to check in and chose my seat and was horrified when I found out that all that was left were middle seats.
Now to some of you that wouldn’t be an issue, but for me I’m very tall and hate a lot of people. I came to the conclusion that this was going to be the worst hour and 15 minutes of my life. All I kept thinking about were the worst possible scenarios…..
First we have the fatty. The man or woman who is going to slowly mosey their obtuse cankles down the aisle, they bounce and shimmy their fat ass through the seats as they are looking for that sad asshole they get to sit beside. You try not to make eye contact but you know in your heart that it’s going to be that lonely seat beside you. They sit down next to you, breathing like they just ran a marathon, adjusting and fidgeting their hips around as their fat over flows the arm rest and into your seat. As bad as this sounds, it’s not the worst.
Then we have the snorer. This person seems not to horrible, keeps to themselves and just lets you have a good flight. Or so it seems….. They slowly drift off to sleep and then it starts. At first its just heavy breathing or the odd snort, so you think that it’s not to bad still. Then it happens, the jaw drops and the tongue starts to sink back and the snoring starts. The sound that emanates from their deviated septum sounds like an old diesel engine filled with gay crickets. You try coughing or shifting or bumping but nothing works, and you know this is your shitty life for the next few hours.
You may think that was a bad one but oh no, what about the talker. There is nothing worse than just wanting to relax and listen to some music and you have Johnny McDickface, the big mouth that won’t shut the hell up. He goes on about his wife, his shitty job, his never ending kid stories and if he’s really nice he’ll even tell you about his fucking dog. I once pretended I was deaf to avoid this situation – worked pretty good till he started chatting me up in sign language – now that was an awkward 3 hours.
You could also have the bitchy passenger that just makes it totally uncomfortable for everyone on the plane. I had a woman who was sitting behind me one time, she over heard something that the steward said – but over heard it wrongly. The steward was commenting on the French announcement, and the lady thought she over heard them talking about death. “Can you please not talk about dying because I’m terrified to fly – I need vodka now!” I wish it was socially acceptable to slap someone upside the head…with a machete….covered in bees.
The winner of the shittiest person to sit beside is the smelly stranger. I actually had a dude take his shoes off while he relaxed and the raunchy parmesan cheese, salt and vinegar chips smell wafted into my nose for way to long. You could also have the nasty asshole who doesn’t use deodorant and for some fucked up reason can’t smell it himself. Or the raunch-box lady the hasn’t showered in a few days….. You get bonus points if she’s a fatty with a raunchy box.
And now a poem for all you airborne assholes out there:
I see you coming
Your fat ripples like Jell-O
Now I want Jell-O
While growing up you are faced with the harsh reality of things that were at one point very real to us, and now as a grownup you realize they were so far from the truth it’s not even funny, and now realizing the truth – how the fuck did we even believe these lies in the first place?
First off, the Easter Bunny – as a child you are told that you go to sleep, and when you wake up there is a either an Easter basket filled with yummy treats, or in some cases that bunny has shit his eggs all over your house and now you get to run around to collect them.
As an adult you realize there is no awesome rabbit that leaves tasty turds around for your tasting pleasure, there’s just you having to buy your own chocolate. The hard part is trying to limit your intake so you don’t gain weight over that 6 lb Easter bunny with the delicious peanuts and crispy treats hidden inside. Or trying to disguise those 10 packs of mini eggs you bought for yourself, and pass them off as treats for your fake kids or nephews.
What about when your mom would tell you “If you don’t stop making that face, you’re going to look like that permanently”. I know this for a fact isn’t true. I once dated a someone who had the worst ‘O-face‘ in the world. It was a mixture between eating a really sour candy and eating something hot – worst combo ever, but surprisingly not bad-looking on a normal day. To bad we can’t make our judgments on someone’s O-face before we make it to the bedroom - I can only imagine how many freaks would be kicked to the curb.
Then there’s “Santa” – we are told this old man squeezes down a chimney, leaves your presents and then stuffs his fat ass back up the chimney after eating about 3 billion cookies and glasses of milk that every child is told to leave for that tub of lard.
We can’t even begin to describe the horrible feeling you get as a child when you realize there is no fat, jolly, cookie-eating, present-leaving man; there’s your dad who’s pissed drunk, dressed up as Santa falling down the stairs, and breaking every present on the way down. Surprisingly those beards don’t stay on to great with spearmint gum and beer mashed together into a paste – MERRY CHRISTMAS FUCKERS!
Or there’s your mom who tells you not to sit too close to the television in fear that you will go blind. BLIND?! Really?! We’re pretty sure our generation is doing just fine. When you’re 5 all you wanted to do was sit up close and watch Fraggle Rock, TMNT and Astro Boy. And you had to be so close that you could actually see the RGB in the screen. If you grew up with a flat screen that reference may be lost on you. Also, fuck you rich boy.
What about the tooth fairy, we were told that a lovely little vixen flies in, gently removes our baby teeth from under our pillows and magically money appears. Now realistically if you were a smart child you would realize this is bullshit, but being a normal child seems perfectly reasonable. But you were smart you would wonder how does she get in the house, and if baby teeth were worth so much I would have ripped those fuckers outta my head in a heart beat. Maybe if teeth were a set rate, kids would be abducted more & headlines would read: “Child found toothless, tooth fairy business is booming. Homeless rate on decline.”
Although some things did turn out to be true, like that thing about eating too many carrots and you’ll turn orange , something fun to look forward to when you have a child. Force feeding it too many carrots to prove a hilarious point. And then you’ll have some funny pictures for his/her wedding day or funeral.
Lastly, the myth about if you masturbate too much your palms go all hairy. If that were true, Gillette would be the richest company in the world due to their innovations in palm-shaving technology. A 6-blade palm shaver?! Amazing! What will they think of next?
And now a poem for all the fuckin’ fairy tale tellers out there…about pirates.
Pirate haikus are
easy since there’s only one
syllable for “Arrrrrrrrrrrrr!”
Being a girl who writes for the most popular humor site on the web that isn’t Cracked.com (citation needed), I get asked a myriad of questions by my male contemporaries.
“Have you ever turned a cucumber into a pickle?”
“Shouldn’t you stop at that red light?”
“Can you store change in your girl parts?”
“Is my sandwich ready yet?”
“You’re on the pill, right?”
“Did you fart?”
“You should wear more makeup.”
That last one isn’t even a question you retards! But the thing I get asked the most often by far is “What do girls do when they’re alone together?!”
So I am taking this chance to clarify a couple of things for our male readers.
8 hot girls on a Saturday night, all go over to Kristine’s house for drinks and a sleep over. Too much alcohol is had, the clothes start coming off in a naughty game of strip poker (but because we’re girls its strip go-fish) Sarah loses her bra, Steph her pants, Kerri her panties and before you know it there is a full blown orgy, with dildos, vibrators and lots of making out. Too much alcohol and a lot of bad/great decisions.
These ideas may or may not be entirely true. Sometimes things do get out of hand, it all depends on what girls came to the party and what bad things they can be persuaded to do.
I know most of you are just happy leaving it there. For those men who do not wish to burst their bubble I would recommend you stop reading now.
8 hot girls on a Saturday night, all go over to Kristine’s house for drinks and a sleep over. Too much alcohol is had, too much food consumed. A riveting game of Truth or Dare gets going. But everyone is too full to get off the couch, so they all decide to just play Truth. They ask dirty, naughty, horrible things. Questions like; would you ever give a guy named Ryan a BJ (the answer is always NO), or have you ever gone down on another girl (this answer varies depending on the girl). They continue these types of games, secret things are said, and naughty things are talked about. Sometimes there is underwear dancing and poking of breasts. There has never been any touching, kissing or rubbing (other than that one time in grade 8 when we played “Wandering Fingers”.)
After reading the two comparisons I now know why guys think of the slumber parties as orgies, makes total sense. I guess in a way they kind of are. Men would never get together and talk about the shape of their testicles, the consistency of their semen, and why they have mommy issues.
I like to envision a guy’s night like this:
8 guys all go over to Pete’s house for binge-drinking night. Lots of beers are consumed; they stack the cans and tape them on top of one another (Wizard Sticks!), to show who is the most loaded. Someone crashes through a coffee table, another burns himself on that cigarette they forgot they had lit. Hockey and that “slut that puts out for everyone” is talked about a lot. Once the alcohol fully sets in, one of them gets over emotional about their job, and tries to have a one on one chat about how he deserves to be recognized more, and how he really loves his boss. Ending in a mystery puke/shit in the bathroom sink that, for some reason, no longer drains properly.
I now know why men dream about the Slumber Party, even a girl’s worst slumber party is 100% better than a typical men’s night.
Truth or dare you slut.
My cuke tastes like a pickle!
I wouldn’t eat that .