The Fat shall inherit my seat

So, still travelling for work, and I’m actually currently ranting from sunny Brisbane, where the Australia v Qatar game is underway as I write. I went on a pub crawl by myself – purely to test out Brisbane’s various English and Irish themed pubs and their beers, not to invite accusations of alcoholism – and got to hang out with a hundred drunk Australians all wearing, saying and drinking the same things at the Pig & Whistle on the Brisbane River. Brings a sarcastic tear of nationalistic pride to my eye…

Anyhoo, flew back to Melbourne from Sydney two nights ago, and managed to get on to an earlier flight and still get an exit-row seat, about which I was very chuffed (clumsy, but I think that’s grammatically correct. Should I have said "chuffed, was I"? Or that it chuffed me? That my chuff levels were increased? WHAT THE HELL IS “CHUFF”?!?!)

But then, as I approached my seat, my chuff levels noticeably decreased. Sitting in the chair next to mine, and overflowing a little into it, was one of those obese people one hears so much about.
I’d got the leg room I’d been so concerned about, but had clearly needed to sacrifice some arm and other-body-parts room in the process.

In inverse proportion to my reduction in chuff, I felt an increase in irrational anger. How dare this guy that I don’t know and who might be quite nice but who has obviously eaten one (hundred) too many hamburgers impinge on my personal comfort for an hour-and-a-half or so? And I don’t want to hear about hormones and gland problems meaning some people can’t help it if they’re Fat. That just means they need to go for a walk and eat less cheese than the rest of us. AND pay for two seats, or sit in Business Class, when they catch a plane. What’s that you say? It’s unfair that due to a health issue they need to expend more money than other persons not subjected to said health issue? Well, I’m short-sighted, and I need to pay for glasses and/or contact lenses (especially replacements when I have also paid for alcohol and a ticket to a TISM concert). Boo-hoo! I pay it, complain a little, and move on! Why are Fat people so special?!? Why do they get special politically-correct terms like “Biggest Loser” when we visually-impaired people have to play the cards we were dealt? Just because there’s more of them than us?!?!?

So I sat next to this Brontosaurus a little peeved.

And then he made it worse.

He asked for his specially-ordered salad when the food cart came around and, when told that due to his change in planes there was no salad, no salad today, he simply asked for an orange juice.

Oh right! Way to make me feel bad for my prejudicial and judgmental view of you!! Like, it’s my fault, and the fault of slim people and magazine editors everywhere, that Fat people get such a raw deal in our society, and you’re really trying to improve yourself.

The nerve.

To add insult to inability-to-use-the-arm-rest injury, he struck up a conversation with the air steward and seemed like a really nice guy.

So I’m the cock, now?

Got home all right, though. Drank about 10 HighTail Ales and ate some corn chips.

Slim King.

Cold-and-dead-in-the-ground-Play

I’m travelling for work for the next two months, on and off, and so last night I found myself on Qantas' 7:10 flight back from Canberra to Melbourne (and, no, this isn't a rant about Qantas - too pred-ICTABLE!! Plus they've got James Squire cans.)

Listening to the in-flight radio, as you do, I was pleasantly surprised to hear a bit of the Flight of the Conchords BBC radio series on “The Smile High Club” channel. Cracking stuff.

After that finished, I then considered my options to be either “Billboard” or “Rock on Q”, and I ended up settling on Rock on Q thanks to such gems as Cheap Trick’s “If you want my love” and Van Halen’s “Dreams”. Yeah! Cock it, Rock-et!

Maybe the station should be called (drumroll) “Cock on Q”!!

Sweeeeeeeeet cock pun!

Anyway, at the end of the flight, I flicked through the in-flight mag to see what I’d missed on Billboard, and discovered that my fateful choice had meant that I had missed an insipid offering (I imagine) from that excruciatingly mediocre band ColdPlay!

Whew! Dodged quite a bullet, there.

That band is cankerous. Who the hell's buying their albums?!?!? Please stop, because I don't want another near-miss like that again.

And thanks again, Cock on Q.