Man, Do I Hate Holiday Travel

[slackmaster]

Iowahawk Special Guest Opinion
by Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab

Yesterday while I was lying in the burn ward getting my crotch bandages changed, I had a chance to catch the air disaster movie marathon on TCM. The lineup included "Zero Hour," "The High and the Mighty," "Skyjacked," and "Airport '75." For all their campy fun and unintentional laughs, those corny old films really serve as a grim reminder how the whole in-flight terror experience has gone completely downhill since the jet set golden years of the 50's, 60's and 70's. What happened to all those pretty stewardesses and polite, well dressed infidels, screaming as the plane plummeted to the ground? Time was, a suicide mission to explode an international jumbo jet was an event full of glamor and excitement; but now it seems to be a endless series of delays, hassles, pushy jerks and third-degree testicular chemical burns. And don't even get me started on the crappy airline food.

Take for example a recent flight I took from Lagos to Detroit. With over 100,000 miles on my JihadAir platinum card, I've schlepped enough miles through Heathrow and Gatwick and Yemen International to know I should be at the airport two hours before departure. Especially during the holiday heavy bombing season. Good thing too, because by the time I got there, there was already a mile long line at the explosives counter. And man, talk about smell! I swear half of these stupid shaheeds hadn't bothered to take a shower, let alone a pre-martyrdom ablution ritual. Come on people, how about a little self respect?

And right when I was only two martyrs in line from the counter? Yep, you guessed it. The stupid explosives agents called for a prayer break. To top that, just as I was finishing my last supplication, I get up off the prayer rug and these three friggin' Saudis totally jump the line, and I'm like, "dude, WTF?" And they're like, "hey, sorry bro, we're late for a bombing in Somalia." And I'm like, "come on man, we've all got flights we want to bomb, no cutting."

Anyhow, by the time I finally get to the counter, they were all out of business class upgrades and PETN fanny packs. Okay, how about a aisle seat and a rectal bomb? No such luck. Yep, like always, good ol' Umar gets stuck with a center seat in row 43 and a pair of those C4 bikini briefs. The kind that really bind your nutsack. Sometimes I wonder why I even pay the 50 bucks to keep my 1K status on that stupid frequent bomber card....

For the rest of the copyrighted opinion piece, please see http://iowahawk.typepad.com/iowahawk/2009/12/man-do-i-hate-holiday-travel.html

[Dr.Phool]

1. I think I sat next to that guy on a flight to St. Pete.

[damntexdem]

2. Really, what did St. Peter think of him?

[Dr.Phool]

3. He said no virgins for you!

He burned off his junk, and they'd be useless anyway.

[Berry Cool]

4. I presume he didn't say any of that while passing through the security checkpoint.

Although it would be interesting to see someone try to crack those kinds of jokes in line.