(no title)
What'd I say?
Miami International, 1:15 p.m.
This airport is as close to Hell as I ever want to come. The buildings are very nice, the air-conditioning superb, and the food choices are enough to make a gourmand blush. The drawback is the people, thousands of them. O how I long for the serenity of my home.
As I mentioned earlier, my departure gate has historically been at the opposite end of whatever building I happen to be in. It is one of few consistencies in my life, and Miami International is no exception. I’ve walked more today than I’ve done in years.
Remember the fat lady in San Jose, the lard tub with the cheap tattoo? She ain’t got nuttin’ on the thing I just watched waddle by. Not only was she larger than life, but her bleached white skin was plastered with colorful ink pictures. I’d be amused to see her in a few years, before the diabetes gets her. The sags will be monumental. Make Shame Great Again!
Upon landing in Miami I saw the Trump-mobile, aka Air Force One, glistening in the Florida sunshine. It was parked on the tarmac a hundred yards away. I wonder how close a person could get to that thing before being shot dead. I decided not to find out.
Speaking of well fed females, there was one behind me on the way from San Jose. I won’t say anything mean about her, and will only record that by all outward appearances it looked as though, when the Ozempic train roared around a bend, she fell off. And just so you’ll know, I have never in my life taken a seat on a plane or in a theater that there was not a mentally unconscious lug behind me who was hell bent on kicking my chair to tatters. Mustering every available ounce of self-control -- there are not very many -- I persevered. But upon landing in Miami I stood up, turned to the woman, looked her in her close-set eyes, and in a voice, the decibel level of which revealed that it was more than a whisper, declared, “I couldn’t help noticing that you have some BIG FEET.”
The plane has begun its descent into the purple-hair realm of Asheville, NC. So the flight attendant jumped on the PA system to speak a string of words so fast that no human could understand them. Nobody was listening, anyway. My wife said flight attendants talk like that to prove they are professionals.
The vacation is over.
Ahhhh vacations! Makes you wonder whose idea it was to leave the quiet of home
I am positive that space-aliens have established a base in Asheville. Those notorious meditating sky-watchers stationed in Asheville has attracted an alien race to the Blue Ridge that is not native born. That being said, I've enjoyed a wonderful night at the Reynold's Mansion. The world is filled with irony;