Subject: It is worth the read
Frame this.. Dude has a stop over in Melbourne for 5 hrs, goes out and has beer and chinese food, please read and enjoy...
I climb on the bus back to the plane, an uneventful trip really. (Well, there is a guy who looks like someone I know on the bus and I have missed the two busses I had planned to catch because I was drinking with locals, but anyhow).
I rock up to Melbourne airport at 8pm ready to board an airplane to come home.
Home. How I miss home. Anyhow. (This is a drunken story, can you tell)?
I had grabbed a window seat at the back of the plane when I booked. None of the front seats were available, but I wanted a window. From the two years of travelling I have noticed that the rear seats on the plane are reserved for people with kids. I got no issue with that, most of the time it is quite quiet, with most people able to chill the kids out, or the kids being nice and quiet. Not this time. From the moment we boarded the kid in front of us screamed. The parents seemed to be oblivious at first. Then as the child screamed for each parent they would respond. I was dismayed.
I thought that the parents would be able to control their child to some degree, but not these. Each time the child screamed for something they gave it. Once they realised the child was not going to stop screaming they threatened the child with violence.
How the f*ck do you think you can get away with threatening violence to a child on an airplane? How are you going to smack your child? There is not enough room to stretch your arms let alone beat a problematic sprog dump. Yet they threatened.
By the time my “swipe your card to watch the" movie started everyone was looking at them. They had the child that would be the catalyst for the journey home. The children around us had started to sook just as the child in front did. Each time the child in front whined so did the other f*cking lambs.
More threats, more cries, more threats to smack its arse, more cries. For f*ck sake, hit it, slap it, punch it, ask the hostess to stick it in the bin. Just shut the f*cker up!
A whole plane load of children are watching, a whole plane load of people waiting. Finally quiet. Finally peace.
An hour of f*cked up whining when it hits me. I had about five hours in Melb.I had not only nice Chinese, but nice beer.
Lots of nice beer. I like beer.
I walked for about five hours, each time I passed a pub I would grab a pint. If you could see my spelling pre posting you would know I am writing this pissed. Anyhow.
I nearly missed the plane due to Carlton draught. Bloody Carlton draught you might think! But no. I boarded the plane and continued on my merry beer consumption way. After sitting in the seat, when the child first cried I pulled out my pen and made stabbing motions. The kind of stabbing motions that would be accompanied by the music(?) from “Psycho”. “Rreek. Rreek, Rreek” Everybody around me laughed. We all could see this satanic child for what he was. A flight destroyer. Raised by retards to annoy the world. No lamb shanks on the menu, I have sandwiches.
The plane is finally peaceful. For nearly six hours I have been drinking beer. I ate Chinese food. I had to burp. It was a small one, I smelt it and realised its potential. (You know where I am going don’t you)?
I looked around the plane at each of the people that had been annoyed at not only the child, but the parent’s inability to control this satanic creature and I had an idea. I burped again, this time a little bigger. Toxic.
And again, only this time I kept my mouth closed. My cheeks puffed at the pressure, but my lips never unsealed.
I leant forward, AND BETWEEN THE SEATS I GENTLY BLEW, RELEASING THE TOXIC BBQ PORK CHICKEN RICE WIND into the row in front of me.
The row of the demonic child, (let's call him Damian). No one moved. I leant back and continued to Watch my movie. (Iron man). Game on.
Damian was falling asleep by now. Each time I had a burp bubble over I held it in my mouth to blow into the seat in front of me. Each time I watched Damien’s fathers head turn and look at Damian. As my BBQ pork burps fester to explosion I would pass them into the demons space with a smile on my face. Each time father of Damian would look at his son. He leant over to his wife and said something.
Her and Damian swapped seats. The seat next to me was empty. The guy two seats up had been in on the pen stabbing joke, time to bring him to the next level. I pulled the pen out again, motioned for his attention, stabbed a couple of times as I burped into my mouth and then showed him I was burping between the seats. He laughed.
My next big burp I leant over and placed carefully between him and the middle set. Damien’s mum moved quickly.
Damian got the “have you poo'd your pants" pat and then we laughed. The guys behind me figured out what was going and I got the thumbs up.
Damian was moved to his dads lap.
Each and every burp was quietly loaded into my mouth and gently blown into Damien’s peaceful space. I watch Damien’s parents check his pants about ten times thinking he had shit his pants. Thank you Chinese food.
These people who had not been interested in quietening their son until he could not be quieted spent the whole flight thinking he had shit himself because of my Chinese burps.
The two guys behind me and the guy in my row spent our flight watching movies and laughing each time I burped.
I developed a system where I would raise my hand, check that they were watching and then burp.
I think this is the best revenge I have ever had. Harmless and justified.
There is nothing like a father shaking his head at the smell of his son’s farts. Especially when he can’t pass the kid off to his mum. I could think of no better revenge for an uncontrolled crying child than for his parents to think he has a smelly bum and not be able to do anything about it.
Harmless revenge served cold and unannounced.