Maybe A Bib
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we'll be reaching Tweed airport of New Haven in aproximately 15 minutes. Please fasten your seat belts and place your trays in their upright postions as we start our decent to land. The weather in New Haven is a wonderful 83 degress with light humidity. Please enjoy your stay in Connecticut and thanks for flying Southwest."
Shit, I must dozed off. I look up and trying to focus, see that miss perky Zoodle has moved as far away from me as possible without actually sitting on the old mans lap next to her and was giving me one helluva of weird, disgusted look. When the feeling in my lower jaw returned, I could feel it was quite wet. As I looked down I noticed my shirt had a few dribbles on it. Ha, no big deal. Has she not ever seen a grown man drool on himself. Sheesh. As I was wiping my chin with my sleeve, I glanced up again at Miss Canada and now that my eyes were working properly I noticed that her entire right shoulder was soaking wet. Oops. Musta feel asleep and schlooped over on her, pinning her to the seat and leaked my entire life's savings of drool upon her shoulder. No doubt her and the old man had unsuccessfully tried to move me off of her, but when I sleep I'm like a dainty full grown elephant. That snores. Poor people. The entire 60 passengers on the plane could not have roused (not R.O.U.S.) me. By the time we landed, and I figured out some sort of grand apology, she and the old man both, were already up and off the plane and probably filing a complaint about long curly haired, bearded Irish looking drunks being allowed on the plane. Or at the very least she would be saving up for first class.
So I stood up and stretched and being one of the last ones off the plane, taking snide glances from all the stewardesses, and then remembering the knocking I heard from before, I slowly stood up. Wondering what I'd hear this time. But, luckily the door was already open, so I grabbed my carry on bag and Hope and headed for the airport bar. I needed a waker upper.
I slapped the bartender a five and told him to keep the change. It was Happy hour, so damn it, I was going to get Happy. I only have a little less than thirty minutes before my next connecting flight. I throw back a couple of domestics and check the score of the ballgame. Red Sox 6, Yankees 4 , bottom of the eighth. Damn, I'd like to finish watching that. But I gotta hit the restroom and go find my gate. I head into the airport bathroom and relieve myself. After I finish and I'm washing my hands, I hear a KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. I spin around slinging water everywhere. Christ! It's coming from the stall directly behind me. The door's shut. I cautiously step closer to it.
"Hey, man. Say, can you help a brutha out and get me somethin to wipe my ass with, man. I mean this mutha fuckas done run outta toilet paper and shit man."
"Uh, yeah sure. I'll uh, be right with you."
Shit indeed, I'll be right with you just as soon as I go wipe myself, you jerk. Damnit, It's getting so bad it's even knocking my bowels loose.
After I threw Mr. Jive Turkey his roll of the airports finest toilet paper over the top of the stall, I headed quickly to find my departure gate before he decided he needed help with something else. I found my gate number and they were already boarding seats 1-25. Of course I have seat 17. Shit. No, I just got that scared out of me. I try and squeeze in towards the end of the line, but after the last flight I decided I'd better try and not piss anyone else off lest I be shackled and chained and brandished to the airport basement for interrigation. I reluctanlty eased to the back of the line and waited. So wait I did. After boarding the plane and successfully putting away my carry on with no incident. I took another seat by the window. I sat down and strapped in and stared at Hope. As the plane taxied down the runway, I started to think about a really good friend of mine, we all called her Neo, and boy could she tell the best knock-knock jokes. I thought of a few of my favorites of hers and began to chuckle outloud, once again gaining strange looks from my fellow passengers. But, who wouldn't laugh outloud at these?
Knock Knock!
Who's there?
U-boat.
U-boat who?
U-boat can play with me tonight
or
Knock Knock
Who's there?
Radio!
Radio who?
Radio not, here I come!
or
Knock Knock!
Who's there?
Dewey.
Dewey who?
Dewey we have to keep telling these knock knock jokes?
So, I started to think maybe I just had the dreaded Knock Knock Joke Syndrome, I hear it's running rampant in some parts of Cambodia.
I ordered a coffee. Black, just like I like my coffee. I pulled out Hope, layed her on my lap and opened her up, figuring we were in for a long night.
Shit, I must dozed off. I look up and trying to focus, see that miss perky Zoodle has moved as far away from me as possible without actually sitting on the old mans lap next to her and was giving me one helluva of weird, disgusted look. When the feeling in my lower jaw returned, I could feel it was quite wet. As I looked down I noticed my shirt had a few dribbles on it. Ha, no big deal. Has she not ever seen a grown man drool on himself. Sheesh. As I was wiping my chin with my sleeve, I glanced up again at Miss Canada and now that my eyes were working properly I noticed that her entire right shoulder was soaking wet. Oops. Musta feel asleep and schlooped over on her, pinning her to the seat and leaked my entire life's savings of drool upon her shoulder. No doubt her and the old man had unsuccessfully tried to move me off of her, but when I sleep I'm like a dainty full grown elephant. That snores. Poor people. The entire 60 passengers on the plane could not have roused (not R.O.U.S.) me. By the time we landed, and I figured out some sort of grand apology, she and the old man both, were already up and off the plane and probably filing a complaint about long curly haired, bearded Irish looking drunks being allowed on the plane. Or at the very least she would be saving up for first class.
So I stood up and stretched and being one of the last ones off the plane, taking snide glances from all the stewardesses, and then remembering the knocking I heard from before, I slowly stood up. Wondering what I'd hear this time. But, luckily the door was already open, so I grabbed my carry on bag and Hope and headed for the airport bar. I needed a waker upper.
I slapped the bartender a five and told him to keep the change. It was Happy hour, so damn it, I was going to get Happy. I only have a little less than thirty minutes before my next connecting flight. I throw back a couple of domestics and check the score of the ballgame. Red Sox 6, Yankees 4 , bottom of the eighth. Damn, I'd like to finish watching that. But I gotta hit the restroom and go find my gate. I head into the airport bathroom and relieve myself. After I finish and I'm washing my hands, I hear a KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. I spin around slinging water everywhere. Christ! It's coming from the stall directly behind me. The door's shut. I cautiously step closer to it.
"Hey, man. Say, can you help a brutha out and get me somethin to wipe my ass with, man. I mean this mutha fuckas done run outta toilet paper and shit man."
"Uh, yeah sure. I'll uh, be right with you."
Shit indeed, I'll be right with you just as soon as I go wipe myself, you jerk. Damnit, It's getting so bad it's even knocking my bowels loose.
After I threw Mr. Jive Turkey his roll of the airports finest toilet paper over the top of the stall, I headed quickly to find my departure gate before he decided he needed help with something else. I found my gate number and they were already boarding seats 1-25. Of course I have seat 17. Shit. No, I just got that scared out of me. I try and squeeze in towards the end of the line, but after the last flight I decided I'd better try and not piss anyone else off lest I be shackled and chained and brandished to the airport basement for interrigation. I reluctanlty eased to the back of the line and waited. So wait I did. After boarding the plane and successfully putting away my carry on with no incident. I took another seat by the window. I sat down and strapped in and stared at Hope. As the plane taxied down the runway, I started to think about a really good friend of mine, we all called her Neo, and boy could she tell the best knock-knock jokes. I thought of a few of my favorites of hers and began to chuckle outloud, once again gaining strange looks from my fellow passengers. But, who wouldn't laugh outloud at these?
Knock Knock!
Who's there?
U-boat.
U-boat who?
U-boat can play with me tonight
or
Knock Knock
Who's there?
Radio!
Radio who?
Radio not, here I come!
or
Knock Knock!
Who's there?
Dewey.
Dewey who?
Dewey we have to keep telling these knock knock jokes?
So, I started to think maybe I just had the dreaded Knock Knock Joke Syndrome, I hear it's running rampant in some parts of Cambodia.
I ordered a coffee. Black, just like I like my coffee. I pulled out Hope, layed her on my lap and opened her up, figuring we were in for a long night.
posted by MrFisher at 2:20 PM
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