Initially, it seemed as though I was destined to deal with ignant/silly coloreds this weekened. It all started Thursday when, due to some silly baiting and girlish instigating, I engaged in an inane back and forth with an even more inane chick. My time could have arguably been better spent shooting snot rockets on the beltway. It's no secret that I'm verbally competitive and that is only heightened when a person steps to me on some bullshit and their house isn't in order. In hindsight, I shudder at the fact that I even wasted five minutes on that foolishenss. I believe the saying goes "Internet arguments are like the Special Olympics. Someone will win, but at the end, you're both still retarded."
However, that pales in comparison to what I encountered on my flight down south. I don't know if I've ever shared this, but I fucking HATE all things Texas, including Texans en masse. (For the purposes of this post, they will be referred to as "the Texans. I know there are great individual Texans in this world.) No, I have not had a traumatic experience with anyone from Texas. My father wasn't some Texan who ultimately abandoned me. I just think of Texas as an unnecessary place. If you look at a map of the U.S., the southern most part of Texas looks like excrement from the bowels of the nation. It could be said that would make Louisiana one of the ass cheeks, but let's not focus on that part of the story. My experience with Texans has shown them to be loud, dumb and imposing. People that visit Texas on purpose seem to have the same personality traits.
I suppose the fact that I made it to the airport and through the checkpoint without incident dictated that I would have a shitty flight. As soon as I got to my gate, I could hear a very loud conversation that had all the sounds and symptoms of a transaction that I like to call "nigga business." For those of you that don't know, nigga business is a miscellaneous business transaction that involves a wild negrolian (escapees from the mental plane of Negrolia) usually taking place outside of legitimate business hours, the word nigga is used heavily and it usually accomplishes nothing other than letting the normal folks in the area know that ignorance, like Bebe's kids, will not die. You can be assured that this person is not talking to TD Waterhouse, a mortgage company or even his/her spouse. In 99% of the cases, this person is talking to another wild negrolian. It was further confirmed as nigga business when he proceeded to comment to his listner about my ass. I can assure you, I ws not in the mood to hear this nonsense at 6:30 a.m. On top of that, he was accompanied by a negrolian caravan. A little part of me died inside as I knew what I was in for.
So, we get on the plane. Let me say this first: unless you are an anorexic midget, do NOT fly Continental. I'll be the first to admit that I'm a big girl. Yes, I use all of my seat in the bus, but ONLY my seat. Therefore, the fact that I had to pull a Sherman Klump just to side down was positively ridiculous. Seated next to me was a brother (coincidentally with the wild negrolians) of average height and looked like he was trying to fit into a kindergardener's chair. Thank god for the sister that grabbed the window seat, which was actually kind of a ballsy move since that was nowhere near her seat assignment. Then again, she was a Texan, albeit a friendly one. Plus, the brother was all to happy to be seated between "two lovely ladies". He was somewhat flirtatious, but harmlessly so and polite enough, so we all made the best of the situation. If the 6'2, 250 brother that was actually assigned to the seat hadn't agreed to sit elsewhere, I'm sure a fight would have broken out. (Note: Disregard for assigned seating is borderline negrolian, however, since the situation was settled amicably, I wouldn't classify it as wild.)
As luck would have it, the negrolians had me surrounded on all sides. They kept opening and slamming the overhead compartments, shouting over my head, loudly greeting each other as each one got on the plane. It goes without saying that four of them were late and barely made it onto the plane. I think that it's equally unnecessary to say that the "nigga technology" was rampant in that joint. If you looked up at any given moment, you could see someone typing with their thumbs, presumably sending a bitch a smiley face. ("'Cause bitches love smiley faces." -Ed Wunsler - The Boondocks)
In addition to them, there was a New York negrolian that had obviously strayed from his herd. How did I know he was from New York? Because it was on his jacket, his jeans, his t-shirt and his hat. Something about that was just wrong to me. I guess in case he lost his memory, somebody could have dropped him from the sky onto Flatbush. Then he kept rolling his tongue around in and outside of his mouth in a very odd, wanna be sexy type way and I would swear that he had on his sister's earrings. Just all sorts of stuff was wrong there. He was loud when he got on the plane, but for the most part, the only sense he aggravated was sight. I feel confident in saying that were he in his element, he would be mentioned in this post extensively as well.
Negrolians as a rule, are non-compliant as a matter of course. Negrolians in flight do NOT turn off their electronic devices. Not ever. What is stupid about this? The fact that there is no service at 37,000 feet. What would it hurt to do what the professionals ask you to do?
After the plane took off, the feast began. They had enough food to look like dinner at the Klumps: ham, croissants, cinnamon rolls, juice, thermoses, chips. Is that a negrolian trait? Not really, I'm just hating. That stuff was looking SCRUMPTIOUS.
They were loud and obnoxious the entire flight. These guys had all the signs and symptoms of a low budget successful rap entourage to DJ Whoop Whoop and MC Thus and So of Ya Mama 'Nem Productions. The fact that they were in the sardine section with me let me know that whoever it was, they weren't really big shit. Ultimately my suspicion was confirmed as I left the plane when some miscellaneous hood rat on the passenger waited for everybody to pass so she could ask one of the guys a question similar to "Ain't you Brandy's brother?" or some shit like that. He confirmed their suspicion and she replied, cheesed out, "Ooooooh, I thought you was hiiiiim." Shoot me.
Of course, no rap entourage is complete without the old dudes. They're not necessarily "old" in the literal sense. But too old to be roadies for the shit they were doing. What is it about old round guys that want to be cool wearing smedium shirts then insisting on tucking them into their jeans. (Jeans that are almost invariably heavily starched and some variation of black.) I would almost swear that a couple of them had loc extensions. That pisses me off immeasurably, negrolian or not.
I had the aisle seat, so I kept having to get up for my seatmates to go to the bathroom. One of the negrolians kept "accidentally" bumping my ass with his head. I never in my life wished so hard for a public fart. That was the longest, most uncomfortable flight I've ever been on.
Mercifully, it ended, but during the landing, when you are supposed to have NO electronic devices on, what happens? A cell phone rings. What does the owner do? Ignore and turn it off? Quickly tell the caller that he'll call him back and close the phone? Noooo. This ignant bastard proceeds to hold an entire conversation while we're landing. We landed safely, but it's the principle.
Once we did land, I immediately got on the horn to tell all my people I landed safely and proclaim my hatred for Texas and the Texans. Let's say that Houston Hobby airport is big as FUCK. No nice way to put that. You need to get from concourse to concourse via train or bus. My plane arrived late. We were supposed to land at 9:44. We landed at 9:50, and I couldn't get off the plane until 10:03. I landed at gate C24. My flight departed from B85. . .at 10:30. So I'm bustling to get to the tram to take me to Concourse B. What I am greeted with is a crowd of people that have been waiting forever and a train that made my flight look spacious. There was only one track operating, which caused the trains to be delayed. So I had to run to catch a bus.
I made it to my plane at 10:28. I was afriad I was going to miss my plane entirely, so I was elated to see all those Mississippi rednecks waiting to fly to Gulfport. Were rotten teeth and Dale Ernhart, Jr. jackets in full effect, you betcha, but I was almost home. There was one guy on the flight who had a mustache that, were it trained, would make Rollie Fingers bow down and say "I'm not worthy!!"
The airport isn't even at half speed yet. All the rental car places are in trailers, there are only a few gates and airlines. It's a mess. And even with all that, it was far more efficient that most fully operational airlines I've frequented. It was tumultuous, but so began my journey home
However, that pales in comparison to what I encountered on my flight down south. I don't know if I've ever shared this, but I fucking HATE all things Texas, including Texans en masse. (For the purposes of this post, they will be referred to as "the Texans. I know there are great individual Texans in this world.) No, I have not had a traumatic experience with anyone from Texas. My father wasn't some Texan who ultimately abandoned me. I just think of Texas as an unnecessary place. If you look at a map of the U.S., the southern most part of Texas looks like excrement from the bowels of the nation. It could be said that would make Louisiana one of the ass cheeks, but let's not focus on that part of the story. My experience with Texans has shown them to be loud, dumb and imposing. People that visit Texas on purpose seem to have the same personality traits.
I suppose the fact that I made it to the airport and through the checkpoint without incident dictated that I would have a shitty flight. As soon as I got to my gate, I could hear a very loud conversation that had all the sounds and symptoms of a transaction that I like to call "nigga business." For those of you that don't know, nigga business is a miscellaneous business transaction that involves a wild negrolian (escapees from the mental plane of Negrolia) usually taking place outside of legitimate business hours, the word nigga is used heavily and it usually accomplishes nothing other than letting the normal folks in the area know that ignorance, like Bebe's kids, will not die. You can be assured that this person is not talking to TD Waterhouse, a mortgage company or even his/her spouse. In 99% of the cases, this person is talking to another wild negrolian. It was further confirmed as nigga business when he proceeded to comment to his listner about my ass. I can assure you, I ws not in the mood to hear this nonsense at 6:30 a.m. On top of that, he was accompanied by a negrolian caravan. A little part of me died inside as I knew what I was in for.
So, we get on the plane. Let me say this first: unless you are an anorexic midget, do NOT fly Continental. I'll be the first to admit that I'm a big girl. Yes, I use all of my seat in the bus, but ONLY my seat. Therefore, the fact that I had to pull a Sherman Klump just to side down was positively ridiculous. Seated next to me was a brother (coincidentally with the wild negrolians) of average height and looked like he was trying to fit into a kindergardener's chair. Thank god for the sister that grabbed the window seat, which was actually kind of a ballsy move since that was nowhere near her seat assignment. Then again, she was a Texan, albeit a friendly one. Plus, the brother was all to happy to be seated between "two lovely ladies". He was somewhat flirtatious, but harmlessly so and polite enough, so we all made the best of the situation. If the 6'2, 250 brother that was actually assigned to the seat hadn't agreed to sit elsewhere, I'm sure a fight would have broken out. (Note: Disregard for assigned seating is borderline negrolian, however, since the situation was settled amicably, I wouldn't classify it as wild.)
As luck would have it, the negrolians had me surrounded on all sides. They kept opening and slamming the overhead compartments, shouting over my head, loudly greeting each other as each one got on the plane. It goes without saying that four of them were late and barely made it onto the plane. I think that it's equally unnecessary to say that the "nigga technology" was rampant in that joint. If you looked up at any given moment, you could see someone typing with their thumbs, presumably sending a bitch a smiley face. ("'Cause bitches love smiley faces." -Ed Wunsler - The Boondocks)
In addition to them, there was a New York negrolian that had obviously strayed from his herd. How did I know he was from New York? Because it was on his jacket, his jeans, his t-shirt and his hat. Something about that was just wrong to me. I guess in case he lost his memory, somebody could have dropped him from the sky onto Flatbush. Then he kept rolling his tongue around in and outside of his mouth in a very odd, wanna be sexy type way and I would swear that he had on his sister's earrings. Just all sorts of stuff was wrong there. He was loud when he got on the plane, but for the most part, the only sense he aggravated was sight. I feel confident in saying that were he in his element, he would be mentioned in this post extensively as well.
Negrolians as a rule, are non-compliant as a matter of course. Negrolians in flight do NOT turn off their electronic devices. Not ever. What is stupid about this? The fact that there is no service at 37,000 feet. What would it hurt to do what the professionals ask you to do?
After the plane took off, the feast began. They had enough food to look like dinner at the Klumps: ham, croissants, cinnamon rolls, juice, thermoses, chips. Is that a negrolian trait? Not really, I'm just hating. That stuff was looking SCRUMPTIOUS.
They were loud and obnoxious the entire flight. These guys had all the signs and symptoms of a low budget successful rap entourage to DJ Whoop Whoop and MC Thus and So of Ya Mama 'Nem Productions. The fact that they were in the sardine section with me let me know that whoever it was, they weren't really big shit. Ultimately my suspicion was confirmed as I left the plane when some miscellaneous hood rat on the passenger waited for everybody to pass so she could ask one of the guys a question similar to "Ain't you Brandy's brother?" or some shit like that. He confirmed their suspicion and she replied, cheesed out, "Ooooooh, I thought you was hiiiiim." Shoot me.
Of course, no rap entourage is complete without the old dudes. They're not necessarily "old" in the literal sense. But too old to be roadies for the shit they were doing. What is it about old round guys that want to be cool wearing smedium shirts then insisting on tucking them into their jeans. (Jeans that are almost invariably heavily starched and some variation of black.) I would almost swear that a couple of them had loc extensions. That pisses me off immeasurably, negrolian or not.
I had the aisle seat, so I kept having to get up for my seatmates to go to the bathroom. One of the negrolians kept "accidentally" bumping my ass with his head. I never in my life wished so hard for a public fart. That was the longest, most uncomfortable flight I've ever been on.
Mercifully, it ended, but during the landing, when you are supposed to have NO electronic devices on, what happens? A cell phone rings. What does the owner do? Ignore and turn it off? Quickly tell the caller that he'll call him back and close the phone? Noooo. This ignant bastard proceeds to hold an entire conversation while we're landing. We landed safely, but it's the principle.
Once we did land, I immediately got on the horn to tell all my people I landed safely and proclaim my hatred for Texas and the Texans. Let's say that Houston Hobby airport is big as FUCK. No nice way to put that. You need to get from concourse to concourse via train or bus. My plane arrived late. We were supposed to land at 9:44. We landed at 9:50, and I couldn't get off the plane until 10:03. I landed at gate C24. My flight departed from B85. . .at 10:30. So I'm bustling to get to the tram to take me to Concourse B. What I am greeted with is a crowd of people that have been waiting forever and a train that made my flight look spacious. There was only one track operating, which caused the trains to be delayed. So I had to run to catch a bus.
I made it to my plane at 10:28. I was afriad I was going to miss my plane entirely, so I was elated to see all those Mississippi rednecks waiting to fly to Gulfport. Were rotten teeth and Dale Ernhart, Jr. jackets in full effect, you betcha, but I was almost home. There was one guy on the flight who had a mustache that, were it trained, would make Rollie Fingers bow down and say "I'm not worthy!!"
The airport isn't even at half speed yet. All the rental car places are in trailers, there are only a few gates and airlines. It's a mess. And even with all that, it was far more efficient that most fully operational airlines I've frequented. It was tumultuous, but so began my journey home
4 comments:
Okay...SOMEBODY has watched a bit too much of the Boondocks. Then again, I can't help but feel you, Breeze. Could someone PLEASE tell me why-oh-why is the world embracing Texas-rap as the next hot isht? Wasn't ATL bad enough? When did some dickhead hollaring "MIKE JONES" become the new black? I'm done...*Sigh*
First off, let me say that I like Mike Jones and Texas hip hop regardless of what SpaceAge thinks. ;o) However, I share you guys dislike for Texas. Why? Well for one thing, Texas hates me! Every single time I have gone to Texas, it rains. Once or twice might be a coincidence. When you get past the numbers you can count on one hand, you know that some Texan god has it in for you.
Secondly, as if New Orleans wasn't bad enough with holding on to old hairstyles, what's up with the Texas affinity for the early 90's? I wouldn't believe they still have girls wearing stacks in their hair out there if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes.
At this point, only two things could induce me to visit Texas--my momma and IKEA.
that just made my day
Ewwwwww, Mike Jones! I'm coming to join you Elizabeth. I understand ya mama...but uh, you can go to Ikea online, lol.
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