Flying
cattle-class is a form of sado-masochism, arising from acts involving
the infliction or reception of pain or humiliation whilst seated in a
cramped, metal tube travelling at 500 miles per hour, ignored for the
large part by surly, fake-tanned ex-models [known by some as 'Glorified Waitress in the Sky', and by others as 'Hostitute' and 'Trolly Dolly'].
Oh, and both toilets will be out of order for the entire 6-hour flight. Most people pay for the privilege of travelling in this manner, although the sum paid is not very much, usually the cost of a second class postage stamp. The purpose of such behaviour is usually to travel to a foreign destination, usually the underbelly of European resorts (Kavos! Faliraki! Sunny Beach! Ayia Napa! Canvey Island!).
Once arrived, they lounge around on the beach all day with no sun lotion on, rapidly contract skin cancer, gorge daily on three cooked English breakfasts, drink copious amounts of vodka, gin, beer, rum and Red Bull (not separately, but mixed together) administered through a funnel-and-pipe known as a Headfucker, and proceed to pass out in one's own vomit, after having shagged a random bird/bloke/blow-up doll/pillowcase.
I would never get caught out flying cattle-class. And I would never holiday in the fleshpots of Europe. No, I have a reputation to keep and I travel to quality destinations where I can enjoy exclusive, high-brow pursuits such as cultural tours, archaeology, wine tasting, fine dining, cock-sucking, visiting sex clubs and naturist beaches, looking for sex in the sand-dunes, cruising laybys and rampant dogging and cottaging. I'm at it like a rabbit! (Edit: Whoops, maybe best delete that last lot.)
Thus, I have this little rubber-stamp which I put on all my travel documentation, to remind cabin crew that I have a sensitive disposition and am only medically allowed to travel in Superior Class and dine off fine bone china with silvery cutlery, despite only having purchased a cattle-class ticket for tuppence. I also like there to be a red carpet awaiting me at the arrival airport, and have been known to threaten airlines with legal action for breach of contract if this has not been forthcoming.
Oh, and both toilets will be out of order for the entire 6-hour flight. Most people pay for the privilege of travelling in this manner, although the sum paid is not very much, usually the cost of a second class postage stamp. The purpose of such behaviour is usually to travel to a foreign destination, usually the underbelly of European resorts (Kavos! Faliraki! Sunny Beach! Ayia Napa! Canvey Island!).
Once arrived, they lounge around on the beach all day with no sun lotion on, rapidly contract skin cancer, gorge daily on three cooked English breakfasts, drink copious amounts of vodka, gin, beer, rum and Red Bull (not separately, but mixed together) administered through a funnel-and-pipe known as a Headfucker, and proceed to pass out in one's own vomit, after having shagged a random bird/bloke/blow-up doll/pillowcase.
I dislike airports, especially the departure lounge, having to sit amongst hundreds of people all wearing mismatched fabrics is enough to give anyone a funny turn. Surly, fake tanned I agree with, but them being ex Models, I beg to differ, on our return flight to Manchester (sleazyjet) the air hostess bore a striking resemblance to Aughra from the Dark Crystal, huffing and puffing she was too. The next time you're on a flight and they try to make you feel small by sneering every time you ask for something, simply say 'I'm not the daft twat working for £2 an hour, now fuck off and bring me a glass of Champagne like the good little domestic servant that you really are' I find that line works well on cruise ships too.
ReplyDeleteNaughty Mitzi! Aughra from the Dark Crystal makes Gollum from The Hobbit look positively handsome. I dread to imagine the Sleazyjet flight you were on if all the trolly-dollies looked like Aughra. I like your approach to put these failed Z-list debutantes of the skies in their places. I usually stand up and shout at the top of my lungs "do you know who I am?".
DeleteIf I may say, Mitzi, someone of your class should be travelling Silver Class, or at least joining the Mile High Club. Although that does not include Carmen. No, she definitely deserves cattle-class.
Thank you for reminding me why I do not fly.
ReplyDeleteHappy Christmas, my lovely - see you on Canvey Island for a seasonal knees-up and a couple of hours R&R under the sunlamp.
Sxxx
Hello Ms Scarlet, what a wonderful sweet message. Happy Christmas to you too, darling. I'm game if you are for a Canvey Island seasonal knees-up and some R&R under the sunlamp. I hope Mitzi will come along and bring Carmen. My only stipulation is that we insist that we are served iced G&Ts by hunky male models wearing nothing but posing pouches.
DeleteHappy Christmas darling.
Love
Fanny xxx
Insert gushing Christmas sentiments " here " and " here " and a Happy New Year!
ReplyDeleteLove Mitzi Carte-Blanche Flange nee Trembler xxx
Darling Fanny,
ReplyDeleteHow can we thank you for the beautifully tender message which you left for us?
Our illnesses have been all too boring to talk about let alone blog about, but you are so kind to think of us. We too shall hope that at some point we may meet up in the real world...we have never been to Brill....and what fun that would be.
Having bought flights to South America in February, we decided that we would go......economy class, we are afraid to say....hoping that the sun, sea and sand.....not to mention the beautiful Uruguayans......would restore our spirits if not our health. And so, we are sending all love to you from hot and sunny Montevideo and yes, we do feel better already.
Wishing you every happiness and joy at Christmastide and hoping that 2015 will be joyful and successful. We have missed our blogging chums, especially those, like you, whom we hold dear to our hearts. The New Year should bring us back to the keyboard.
Love and everything you wish from Santa,
J and L xxxx