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Ah, updating the site in Notepad, to be posted later once I get access to the internet. What? Why don't I have access to the internet? Funny you should ask considering I have a LAN that runs through my veins, but everything comes to a standstill at the Atlanta International Airport, even blood-based internet. Another successful trip to Atlanta for my job, another seven hours sitting in the airport waiting for the plane engineers to staple gun the wings back onto the death machine that will whisk me away back to glorious NJ. I'm bored, my laptop has a full battery, and I left my DS at home... time to people watch.
|ATLien style on y'all asses.|
hoo-dee-hoo | Tuesday, 10.17.06
Important people are making important phone calls. Since we're all going back to Jersey, every sentence that fills the air is laced with expletives... so far "fuck" is winning. "This fucking airport... every fucking time I come here my fucking flight is delayed." Please, where the fuck are you needed at 7:45 on a Wednesday night? You can wait a few more hours, fucking no-neck-having motherfucker. See how contagious it is? The only person that's bringing any class to our pity party is a British man who is complaining to his landlord about his "GA-raj" (garage) and the "prezzure" (pressure) of his bathroom sink. Does he realize where this flight is headed? Do they even pronounce "pressure" differently in England? I think he's an imposter, attempting to pick up big-haired Jersey chicks with his spot-on Billy Idol impression. Oi.
|Joey, do you like movies about gladiators?|
"In the interest of safety, we ask that you keep a close watch on your baggage," the announcer states every 10 minutes. It's kinda Johnny Cash-esque. "I keep a close watch on this baggage of mine. I keep my shoe bombs hidden all the time. I dispose of aerosol cans to avoid fines. Because you're mine. I walk the line." Can I type the words "shoe bombs" and "aerosol cans" in an airport waiting area without getting tackled by security?
"FUCK," announces a pasty-faced moron as the new departure time is posted - 9:20 p.m. The mutants are getting restless now, rising from their chairs to sigh and then slump back down in defeat. Handsome business executives also voice their concern by mumbling under their breaths and updating their designated sleep periods on their Blackberries. I repeatedly check my boarding pass to ensure that I'm sitting at the right gate... just in case. Gate D-12. Like Eminem's backup dancers or whatever. I think I'm getting a rash on my lip from the horrible airport bar. Stupid unwashed beer goblet. I must update my Blackberry to schedule a "rash-review seminar" with myself.
In order to make life more interesting among these weary travelers, I think I'm going to start sitting on peoples' laps and farting on them. Loudly. Anything to inject some life into these mopey bastards. Sure, their eyes are glazed over and they're restless and pouty, but they'll always remember that night that the strange man farted on them at the airport.
Aw jeah, boarding begins at 8:46, suckas. I'd like to thank everyone and everything that made this update possible - Notepad, fake British man, and farts. I'm coming home, strange Turnpike smell. I hope you left a light on.
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