I drink them two at a time once I'm up in the air surrounded by assholes that won't stop texting to speak to me and smell of McRib Sandwiches. The laptop's almost out of juice, the next post will be from home. Sweet home.
Okay, I just settled in and the old couple next to me is eating a huge bag of McDonald's and really stinking the joint up. I think I smell McRib in the air and I'm about to heave.
I don't like my in-flight neighbor. I said hi to him and he didn't look up from his texting device. Asshole.
I'd like to slice off his ear, deep fry it and then serve it to him like a potato chip with a hearing drum inside of it. But that's just me. I wish the beverage cart would get here.
I hate the gate! You have to take off your shoes, which is always a tricky feat after a few morning cocktails and there’s always a hassle. Today it involved some guy who was pissed off that he couldn’t take two quarts of Fanta grape soda on his flight with him. He looked straight out of central casting for the movie, “Deliverance.” This river don’t go to Aintry, Mister.
I had to get my wallet x-rayed for some reason and then I was put to the side and was told I would have to be, “pat down.”
I dutifully put my hands up in the air, got patted down by a grizzled, old veteran of airport screening duties. When I asked if it was extra for a happy ending, he just scowled at me. I took my wallet and bag and ran to the gate which was just boarding...
I've written about the ketchup situation in the Greater Peoria Airport before and here I go again. Ever since I was a little kid, all I would eat is Heinz ketchup.
The first time I ever was going to spend the night at a friend's house when I was a little kid was a big deal and I was pretty excited. My friends name was Pat King and his family was real nice and we had fun playing outside before we got called in for supper. But when I sat down at the dinner table and I looked and saw a bottle of Hunt's ketchup, I feigned a stomach ache and asked them to call my parents to come pick me up. After about a twenty minute wait, while silently cursing Hunt's ketchup and Pat and his entire stinking family, my dad dutifully pulled up, I got in the car and he looked at me. I looked at him and said one word: "Hunt's."
He glared at the King household in furious anger, looked back at me and nodded in sage father and son agreement and floored it out of their driveway. When it comes to ketchup, you either know these things or you don't.
As vile as Hunt's is, I can't imagine being desperate enough to put Crown ketchup on anything except a grilled baby's butt. Because who eats a baby's butt except a drooling, twice-crazed, psycho-baby cannibal killer? And he probably spells "ketchup," "catsup."
Some things I'll just never understand. Crown "ketchup" is one of them. Shame on you Peoria Airport. Shame on you.
Okay, I'm heading back to New York City and here we are at the Greater Peoria Airport.
Look, it's a big tractor.
And here's the white, marble-topped bar. A couple years ago I got in a spot of trouble in the Cincinnati airport after imbibing beer all day during a failed trip home and I ended up spending the night in the Boone County Jail. Ever since my mom worries about me when I'm traveling and I promised her I wouldn't drink any beer till I got back to my apartment in New York.
So I'm drinking vodka all day. Cheers and I'll be back in a bit. Unless I get arrested.
Well, tomorrow I'm headed back to New York City, I had a great time in Peoria and it was great to see everybody, but I do believe I've had enough. Time to get back to my home on the East Coast. I'll be blogging as I make my way in a drunken stupor back to New York, so check back tomorrow in the morning to see multiple posts of the trip. Sneeze ya then!