Flying

An Excerpt From the Upcoming Book “Being Fat” by Bradly Fukerton III

I have such an amazing amount of cognitive dissonance when it comes to flying. Trust me, the irony is not lost on me when the endless griping about airports, flight delays and customer service takes place from everyone that’s ever left their hometown. You’re in a metal tube, hurling though heavens at a breakneck pace. Air travel is demonstratively more safe than ground travel. We can watch pornography on our phones while we are 20,000 feet in the air, presumably to hold us over until we can watch pornography in our hotel rooms. Sure, the prices for a Coors Light mid-flight are pretty steep, but Jesus! We’ve come a long way from finding a wagon trail capable of getting us to Yuma so that we could die of consumption like civilized people.

That said, fuck flying. Every single aspect of it toots on an enormous quantity of peckers. Let us start with the price. More aptly stated, what the airlines would have you believe is the price, but really serves as just a hard deck for the add on charge bukkake session you are in store for. I recently booked some airfare and decided to splurge on “preferred coach” which sounds like a made up term because it is. Basically, what this granted me was a seat in the first 10 rows. Not first class, mind you. Oh, certainly not. Those tickets were already gobbled up at 1,200 a pop by what appeared to be the cast of “The Hills Have Eyes.” Seriously, didn’t people used to wear suits on a plane? How did this slovenly, google-eyed lot acquire the funds necessary to avoid all the horrendous trappings of coach? If an airplane were a colon, first class would be the only portion not ravaged by Crones. Naturally, I could talk about colons all day, but lets move on.

I paid roughly double what a standard plebe would for a coach seat, so I found it curious when I noticed I was listed in “Group 6” for boarding purposes. You know, the LAST goddamn group to be allowed onto the cattle car? How could this be? I paid to sit in the front. The people that pay for First Class get to board first. Why would I go last? Luckily, my naive line of thinking would be remedied one click of the mouse later as I was prompted to pay an additional 44 dollars for “preferred boarding.” 44 dollars for something that should be included in the exorbitant cost of the tiny chair I paid to sit in for 5 hours. 44 additional dollars for something that doesn’t physically exist. For 44 dollars, I should receive a country fried pork chop and a some manual release while the other passengers are whipped with garden hoses in front of me.

And so begins the never ending calvacade of financial ass pounding administered by the airlines. 35 dollars to check your bag and you BETTER check your bag because after group 6 finally gets to board, groups 1-5 have thrown their Fiat sized carry-ons into the overhead already. No space for you assholes in the Fuck Six Mafia. It’s a financial funicular carrying you ever upward till your credit card is maxed out & your daughter’s knocked up. (I’ve seen it 100 times before.) Ironically, the only place I would welcome being frisked for some extra cash, the air travel industry has yet to catch on to. This concept is worth billions, yet year I am about to give it away for FREE. Ah well, such is life. Get out your number 2 pencils, asshole airline people. Big Shooter is about to make you a mint: PREMIUM TOILETS.

5 dollars a throw. 10 dollars a throw. Whatever. Sign me up right now. A one seater bathroom with sound proof walls, a deadbolt and the essence of Elderflower being pumped through the ductwork. Do you know how many times I’ve walked into an airport bathroom and encounter the digestive death march? I can’t know if this happens in women’s bathrooms the same way it does in mens, but I suspect as much. This is when travelers are so desperate to shit, they actually LINE UP in front of occupied toilets. They WAIT for their chance to walk into an acrid cloud of another mans leavens and drop their bare cheeks onto a warm toilet seat. A seat still reeling from the pounding it just took, given no quarter as the brown assault continues. It’s like instead of pushing a boulder up a hill, Sisyphus loaded up on Sabarro at Hartsfield-Jackson and was doomed to taking a never ending dump when he reached Charlotte International.

To avoid this process & the savages that take part in it, the solution is simple. Charge me money. I’ll happily pay. I’ll take it a step further. Let’s Uber the hell our of this whole deal. Apply surge pricing to the premium toilets during the weekend & holidays. I don’t care. Anything to avoid dropping mud in the killing field that is an airport bathroom. Have the thing pressure washed every 30 minutes. Offer up a member ship card, like Subway! 9 premium shits at Phoenix Sky Harbor and your 10th bout of diarrhea is free. Free colonoscopies for everyone that eclipses 45 usages in a calendar year! It sounds like you could use one, slappy. This process would work two-fold. Firstly, the animals that would put themselves through waiting in front of a public toilet to shit do not value themselves enough to pay for a better way of life. They would be a non-factor. Second, the fancy people like me that would rather die than allow strangers hear them throw spackle against a porcelain bowl are incredibly motivated customers. They would treat this service with the reverence it deserves. Lets get rich, people.

One Comment

Leave a Reply
  1. I wish I had more sympathy for your ordeal, but unfortunately you have described it far too hilariously 😀
    “toots on an enormous quantity of peckers”
    I’m still laughing at that 😀

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.