Have you ever wanted to fly on a plane with shag so thick it’ll drown a toddler? Me neither, but when was the last time you were able to comfortably stand up in a plane, let alone grab a mixed drink and play pong? Exactly. These days you’re lucky if you have enough room to properly own and operate all four appendages. I’m not in a position to buy my own private jet yet, so I have to settle for the garbage that’s currently on offer. I assume that many of you are in a similar position.
Flying in a commercial airliner is closer to riding on a Greyhound bus than soaring majestically over the clouds. Even the first class cabins in most planes are pretty meh. I’m pretty sure Air Emirates offers hookers and blow for anyone flying first class, but they’re the outlier in this case. The average cabin looks like the inside of a PVC pipe with some carpeting and uncomfortable seats. What happened to the buffet and dinette sets? When did things go so wrong? We don’t have to have crappy, boring plane rides, we just do.
Some people might say that the reason why we’re confined to our seats is for safety, but that’s kind of a load of crap. I’d rather hit turbulence while standing at the bar, getting hammered on complimentary mini-drinks than sitting in a glorified deck chair, surrounded by people who are way too sober to be flying.
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I don’t take my lion out to dinner anymore. He occasionally eats the waiter, and I find that it affects the quality of service you receive after that. I don’t take my lion to Men’s Wearhouse, either, for similar reasons. Besides, he spends too much, and it’s even harder to wrest a credit card away from an angry lion than a wife. Like, four or five percent harder. That’s pretty hard.
Lions aren’t completely useless, however. We all know that the best way to pick up chicks is to dress well and flash a little cash. In many social situation, you can get bonus points if you bring a cute pet along with you. It’s the reason dudes bring puppies and ankle-biting little brothers to the beach. Perhaps bringing a lion to Indian Olive Garden will have a similar effect, but I am beset by doubts.
I don’t like to brag, but I’ve met a girl before. Talked to her and everything. I’ve seen many more while out and about, but the restraining orders keep upping the yardage I’m required to keep between me and them, which makes conversation difficult. I’ve even heard rumors from my dad that mom used to be a girl before she was a mom. Anyway, maybe it’s just me, but I’m fairly sure that many women can cut a tomato without a trip to the emergency room. They seem to be able to iron a garment without burning down the house. Several of them have boiled pasta without incident. A solid plurality of the girls in my life have been able to operate both pillows and blankets. As a matter of fact, they seem to be able to operate blankets a little too well on cold nights.
Anyway, I wish I could have met some of the women in this infomercial compilation instead of the ones I always encountered. Maybe they would have actually gone for my pickup lines.
Dude, stop. The thing isn’t even fighting back, it’s had enough. You could have just told us it wasn’t going to break and we would have believed you. You don’t have to hulk smash everything to get your point across.
It also seems appropriate to mention that maybe, just maybe, there are other ways to break open a window. You know, a way that wouldn’t require opening it. A way that it could be broken into with any household item, like a brick, hammer, or overcooked meatloaf. Just a little bit of blue-sky thinking here, don’t mind me.