Papa’s Basement 5-31-11-Tales from Sin City
99 times out of 100, when a guy behind a mic says, “Man, I just wish we had more time to get to everything I wanted to talk about today,” […]
Where last we left off, your friend and humble narrator had landed in Milwaukee to await a connecting flight to Las Vegas.
The layover was brief, and, as I slumped in my second cramped airplane seat of the day, I hoped that fact was an indicator that the remainder of the trip would be relatively painless. Unfortunately, I wasn’t permitted to live in that blissful lie for even 30 seconds before I noticed the woman directly behind me in the boarding line had parked her ass in the middle of the aisle and was refusing to budge until she sorted out how the rest of her family would sit in relation to her. For five full minutes, this broad carried on a loud, spirited debate with her sister and mother about who would sit where, literally unable to give less of a shit that she was keeping every other passenger from boarding. Now, I’m not one to indulge in mean-spirited stereotypes (play along), so I won’t mention this woman’s size and race, but if Mo’Nique ever ascended to the throne, this twat could make a large sum of money serving a royal body double to throw off would-be assassins.
Then, as if she hadn’t already done enough to endear herself to the flight crew and her fellow passengers, she plopped a “toddler” in her lap the size of Sergio Oliva. When a stewardess greeted her with an upturned eyebrow, the woman replied (with a perfectly straight face) “Oh, he a lap baby.” I’m not sure what the size limit on a lap baby is, but being able to start at nose tackle in the NFL should be a disqualifier. To put a cherry on top of it all, she turned around and looked me dead in the eye for several moments before lowering her seat right into my sternum. “Man, at least it can’t get worse than this,” I thought to myself as I threw a gauntlet at the feet of the Almighty. Well, it turns out God was up for the challenge, which He made abundantly clear as a tub of slop who was a dead ringer for the front man of Smash Mouth screamed two words to thunderous applause that I was going to hear a lot as the flight progressed: “Vegas, baby!”
I’m not going to detail every horror I endured on that flight because it’d require several more articles, so I hope a rough outline will suffice. People were pounding liquor and screaming back and forth to each other the entire time, treating the plane like a goddamn party bus. The lap adult took a man-sized shit in his diaper an hour into the flight, and, rather than get up to change him or even acknowledge that he’d soiled himself, Mo’Nique talked to him in baby talk and bounced him in her lap, in effect fanning him like a feces-stuffed censer. A large white girl seated directly behind me was the recipient of a very smooth, very fit black guy’s affections, and she reacted to his every line with a laugh so piercing it could penetrate a bank vault. How loud was she? Even Mo’Nique was turning around to shoot her dirty looks. Yeah, that loud. What made it all the more painful was how out of her league the black guy was. All the foreplay was so gratuitous: She’d have sucked him off for an Extra Value Meal. Even super sizing it would have been unnecessary.
Four hours later, the plane landed on Las Vegas soil. Hellish as it had all been, the instant my eyes panned from the airport slot machines to a 90 lbs woman with DD implants to an indoor smoking tank in one fell swoop, I knew it was worth it. Next time I’ll talk about my first night in Las Vegas and just how much trouble even a pud like myself was able to get into while out there. Keep reading!
reallyprofound on June 2, 2011
Keep ’em coming, this is about where the radio show left off!