I woke up to a loud pounding on my door. As I opened my eyes, the relentless battering on the door was only overshadowed by that in my own head.

Me: Whattha fuck man, let me sleep pleeasshh!
Roommate:
Dude, you missed your flight! It’s already nine o’clock!
Me:
Shit!

I rolled out of bed, still completely hammered, and started throwing wrinkled balls of clothing from the floor into my already opened suitcase, literally grabbing anything within reach and stuffing it indiscriminately into my bag. Then I made my way into the bathroom to find the toilet full of puke, and the shower curtain ripped off. I tried to flush the toilet, and in an attempt to choke down the congealed mass of vomit, it stalled and promptly spit everything back up. I don’t really blame it, that egg sandwich tasted like shit last night. What kind of douchebag puts mayonnaise on an egg sandwich, anyway? Thanks Ryan.


Ain’t no muthafuckin’ sluts on THIS plane.

I grabbed a plastic grocery bag off the floor and in one sweeping motion, swiped my arm across the bathroom counter, catching most of my shit in the bag. I then tossed the bag onto the already overflowing suitcase. I yelled at my roommate.

Me: You ready?!
Roommate:
Yeah, let’s go.

As we hit the road, I called the 1-800 number on my no longer valid airline ticket. A woman answered and I proceeded to tell her what happened. She said there was another flight to Dallas at 10:41am and to fly standby on that. Awesome. Thanks.

I looked at my watch—10:03. Hmm, flight leaves at 10:41…. It’s an hour drive to the airport…. Let’s fucking do this.

I informed my roommate and he took off like a stream of egg sandwich out of my mouth, weaving in and out of cars, pulling some serious NASCAR moves. We could not have been averaging under 95 mph. The entire drive.

We screeched up to the drop-off point, I grabbed my bags, gave my farewell and headed to the front desk. I looked down at my watch—10:35. I rounded the corner and finally made it to the desk thinking I had achieved the impossible. I explained the situation to the lady at the counter, and she proceeded to type for five fucking minutes. Then she told me that the flight just left. Thanks for the update Speedy Gonzalez, I probably would have caught the flight if you didn’t type like you had cerebral palsy.

I stood there for a minute, catching my breath, trying to decide what to do next, when the lady suddenly spoke in excitement.

Lady: Oh! I’ve found another flight for you to ride standby.
Me:
Awesome, what time….
Lady:
The flight leaves at 6:30 p.m.
Me:
Wow, great.

I looked down at my watch—10:42. Exactly 7 hours and 48 minutes until takeoff. Spec-fucking-tacular.

I could have called my roommate to come pick me up, but I didn’t want to make him drive back there again, then go back home, then come back to the airport for the third time in one day. So I decided to find a nice dark corner in the lobby to sleep the hours away.

Up to this point, I hadn’t really had much time to think, but suddenly I realized how truly drunk I still was. I headed for the nearest restroom and began staring at an unshaven greasy mess with puke crusted on his cheek. I almost told this smelly bum I didn’t have any change, but I realized it was my own reflection. Jesus, is that a piece of egg sandwich in my hair?

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I splashed some water on my face, and attempted to make myself look somewhat respectable. Now I just had to find somewhere to sleep without getting eyed like a fat woman at a buffet.

The whole place was shoulder to shoulder with people, and I was lucky to even find a place to lie down. But at this point I wasn’t really worried about sleeping in the open because a) others seemed to be doing the same thing and b) I was fucking exhausted. I tossed my backpack on the ground and laid down with my head on my bag. Finally, time to get some sleep.

As soon as my seemingly 100-pound head hit the backpack, I heard a something click. Hmm, probably just be my CD player or something. Time to close my eyes and relax. Then, with absolutely no warning at all, a loud booming voice went off.

Voice 1: RYAN, DO YOU LIKE SLUTS??!?!?

I shot up and tried to see where the voice was coming from. A group of 20 or so people around me looked up with the same bewildered face as my own. Then, another somewhat familiar voice spoke.

Voice 2: WHAT KIND OF SLUTS?!?!

OH SHIT, this was coming from my bag!!

Voice 1: DICK SUCKIN’ SLUTS!!!!

Still unsure what the fuck was going on, I tore into my bag as mothers began whisking their children away and hundreds of sets of eyes bore into my skull.

You see, the previous night my roommate Ryan had presented me with an early birthday gift. The gift of a digital voice recorder. He said he would love to hear my adventures caught on tape. Turns out, I had already recorded a snippet of the prior night’s activities. As I attempted to tear the batteries out of this infernal voice recorder, the conversation continued.

Ryan: YEEEEAH I LOVE DICK SUCKIN’ SLUTS, FUCK THOSE VAGINA SUCKIN’ SLUTS!!!
Me:
HEEETTTTEERRROOOO SLUTS!!!

Finally, I managed to remove the batteries from the recorder and look up. I am not even exaggerating when I say that at least 200 people were staring right at me, not one of them knowing what to think. It was far too early for anyone to laugh, so everyone just sat there in disgust. I should probably find somewhere else to sit.

I weaved in and out between bodies, all of them going out of their way not to touch me. I wouldn’t want to touch someone like me either—I looked like ass, smelled like puke, and had an obvious proclivity towards dick suckin’ sluts.

I managed to find a close-to-abandoned corner in the west wing of the airport, put my bag down once more, making sure that the god forsaken voice recorder was turned off, and laid my head down.

A number of hours later, I woke up and decided to get some food. Holy shit, I was excited. For some reason I love eating at the airport. The food sucks more often than not, but maybe I just love the variety. One thing was for sure: I would not be ordering an egg sandwich.

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I ended up getting some Chinese food, and, as expected, it was pretty stale; the dog was still barking as I was ate it. I glanced at my watch and decided to go sit at my gate.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly. I gave the lady my ticket, stowed my bag, took my seat, and put my headphones on. This flight was only going to be a couple of hours long, and I was starting to get pretty excited about seeing all of my family and friends.

About an hour and 45 minutes into the flight, the bright lights of Dallas started to peek out from the horizon. Then there was a slight jolt of turbulence, but not really enough to phase me; my eyes were locked on the ground below.

Another wave of turbulence came on, more intense this time, and everyone stopped what they were doing to look up. It subsided and people snickered and wiped their foreheads in relief. Then suddenly, a powerful gust of wind overtook the plane and everyone screamed. From my window seat, I could see the wing go from parallel to near perpendicular to the ground.

Bags slammed around in the overhead compartment above my seat. Then there was a momentary period of stillness as the plane attempted to steady, and deathly hush fell over the plane. I was afraid to breathe. Then, without any warning….

Voice 1: RYAN, DO YOU LIKE SLUTS??!?!?

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Voice 2: WHAT KIND OF SLUTS?!?!
Voice 1:
DICK SUCKIN’ SLUTS!!!!

The turbulence came back over the plane with more force than ever. My voice recorder continued going off in the overhead bin, and I looked over at the middle-aged black woman sitting next to me. She had a look of utter terror on her face, but I also caught a smile beginning to form.

Ryan: YEEEEAH I LOVE DICK SUCKIN’ SLUTS, FUCK THOSE VAGINA SUCKIN’ SLUTS!!!
Me:
HEEETTTTEERRROOOO SLUTS!!!

The lady suddenly erupted with laughter, while everyone else in the surrounding area remained completely confused. “Maybe,” they thought, “God is speaking to us?”

“And on the eighth day, God decreed that all women from this point on shall be Dick Sucking Sluts.”

At this point, most of the passengers on the plane were screaming, all of the men had accepted God’s latest decree, and myself and the lady next to me continued laughing. I guess if I had to die, that wouldn’t be such a bad way to go out.

The plane continued to descend, all the while experiencing less and less turbulence. Within minutes of accepting death, we made a flawless landing on the rain-soaked ground of the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport. I looked over at the lady next to me.

Me: Did you enjoy the flight?
Lady:
No, but I have a newfound appreciation for sluts.
Me:
Dick suckin’ sluts?

The lady lost it again, and I sat back in my chair and smiled. It’s good to be alive.

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