Getting off a plane (or “Deplaning” if that is a word)

I have been on more than a few planes the last couple of months and I have noticed that there is always one dickweed that tries to jump the line after the little bells dings indicating we can all jump up and stand for five minutes while they fuck around with the rolling tube we all walk through when we deplane.  I guess “deplaning” is a word as long as “deshitting” means getting off of the toilet after launching a griswald.

 But there is always that little moment right after the bells dings where most everyone stands up and starts fucking around with the overhead bins and/or grabs some shit from their bag – that some suckwad will start walking up the aisle to get ahead of the pack.  Hey motherfucker, deplaning is like leaving a wedding, row by row from the front.  Get your dumbass back or this SkyMall magazine is going to be forcibly inserted into your line-jumping ass.

Being tall, I immediately stand up when a plane lands to avoid having my legs atrophy and/or blood clots from forming.  Being on a plane is the only time midgets and dwarfs must think – “Yeah Bitch, you want to be like me now, stare at my big head some more cocksucker, hey can someone hit the overhead light for me though” …

Recently, I hesitated to stand up after a landing and noticed some asswipe with his head down walking up the aisle.  I literally catapulted myself over the arm rest to get in the aisle and then I immediately took two steps back to stop his bullshit.  Then I let everyone in front of me get out first (like you’re supposed to but there is some wiggle room on the four or five seats in your row – since you’re all the same row, who goes first?  Well in this case, all of them went first even though I could have read a book while some old lady did the hop, slide, hop, slide to get her ass into the aisle from her window seat).  I then walked like I had two broken femurs up the aisle and I asked the pilot about the landing and pretended I had a bag to pick up plane side.  The entire time I was rocking back and forth so he couldn’t get by me.

Fuck him – the lousy pig-fucking, line-jumping bastard.