Oh yeah, THIS is why I hate international travel

Sittin' in the Bucharest International airport, blogging away,
Sittin' in the Bucharest International airport, blogging in may,
Sittin' in the Bucharest International airport typing on a stupid 150,000 lei a minute computer waiting for a fucking plane that's never gonna arrive with tourists reading what I'm writing over my shoulder and slowly losing the will to live due to the poinless inanity of life and my deep desire to just jettison my famliy and go back to my bachelor life with my father,*

I just remembered why I hate international flight. It's my family. Twats. I can handle it perfectly well on my own, in fact I can just cruise through like the leapord-spotted pimp that I am when I'm by myself. But attach my family to me and suddenly it's like I've lost all my pimp juice and I'm dragging a fifteen tonne rusty metal anchor behind me tied to my armpits. It's THAT difficult.

My brother is ill. My brother is always ill when it coincides with return plane journeys. Thailand he threw up in the taxi. Rome he was falling over all over the place. And now he's spewing left right and center. Twat. I swear he does it JUST to annoy me.

I have very little sympathy for ill people. They piss me off to a great degree. In fact, every time I see an ill person hunched over a sink breathing deeply and looking like their about to vomit up their stomach linings, I am forced to hold back the urge to beat them soundly across the spine with a nice hard two-by-four**. This would probably explain why my promising carreer as a Paediatrician was tragically cut short***.
So my brother is unable to stand up for any prolonged period of time, which means that our supposedly effortless glide through the airport has been crushed into a series of sharp trots to benches that are near to the toilets.

I'm also travelling with my mother and my sister. Yes, the females. In my vast experience of travelling with females, they are the ones that totally lose it and turn into psyco bitches at airports, hissing at my to pick up my bag and move when we quite clearly have a good five minutes before the plane leaves, or telling me to stop grinning and look severe in the security check, or stop telling me to make terrorist jokes in the departure lounge****. They don't understand the concept of 'chilling out' and letting events take their course. I am of course the cucumber cool man (when I cross the road, kids cry 'hey, Cucumber C' at me and I'm all like 'wadup dogg*****' and they're all like 'yo!' and I'm all like 'woah dude' and they're all like 'wow, Cucumber C, I was about to embark on a life of crime and violence but now you've put me on the path to riteousness - we're going to go visit the Civic Centre and find a way to help society' and I'm all like 'Remember kids - only losers do drugs' and it's all cool) and their endless worrying drags down my cool cucumber self. THE PLANE IS NOT GOING TO LEAVE WITHOUT YOU AND YOU ARE NOT GOING TO HAVE YOUR BAGS STOLEN IF YOU ARE NOT HOLDING THEM ALL THE TIME, STOP TELLING ME TO GUARD THEM WHILE YOU GO TO THE TOILET.

And the plane just got delayed. At the moment, it's 4:05. The time of delay is 6:15. YEP, that's TWO HOURS WAIT. I have the internet until 4:48 so this may end up being a very long post indeed. So that means that I'm UNLIKELY to get that party tonight that I wasn't even invited to and have no method of reaching or leaving, so that's not gonna happen. But for fuck's sake, apparently the reason for the delay is that the plane is still in England. When the skanky ho who imparted this news to us imparted this news to us I felt like screaming "WHAT'S IT DOING THERE?" but that would have blown my cool and we all know that I am Cucumber Cool (the other day I was drinking my diet coke when these skaters came by and they were all like 'hey cucumber C wanna come skate with us' and I was like 'big up pimp-daddy' so we busted some neat tricks and grinded some poles and ollied some walls and they were all like 'you're the MAN Cucumber C' and I was like 'well, I'm the man, but that's because I DON'T SMOKE' and they were all like 'big 4-0 pimp daddy, I ain't NEVER smoking as long as I live' and I was like 'that's right, son, because only LOSERS smoke' then we brokedanced) so instead I sauntered over to my brother and made vomiting sounds in his ear.

And there's no food in the plane, because apparently some cunts down at BA are on a strike or something. Tits. Why are they having a strike? Apparently a bunch of yanks who'll they'll never meet in some company that they'll never work for got fired from cooking the food that they'll never eat. Ooh, big boo-hoo, some of your friends got fired. THAT'S LIFE, now STOP BITCHING AND COOK ME SOME FOOD. I actually have no idea what's going on. I hope my brother throws up on my mum - as long as I'm not sitting next to them, I'd find that really funny.^

What else? Airport security. I can't really bitch about that, except you should see some of the stuff thrown into the big plastic bins next to the security stations in Romania - knives (I swear that there was a whole sword in there), replica guns, toy lazer-guns, grenades, flick-knives, cigarettes, matches, aerosols, carving knives... the list goes on. Romanians sure love their knives. I wonder if the airport security picks up that I'm writing so many weapons in the internet? Perhaps they think that I'm a terrorist. Terrorist. Terrrrrrrrrrrroooooooooooooorrrrrist. I HAVE A BOMB. Look I just typed "I have a bomb" at the airport. In capital letters AND bold, so I am in effect yelling my words. Mwhahahhahaha.

Thankfully, I have the Pixies in my ear, and I AM a chien andalucian, bitches.

What ellllllllllseeeeeeee...........? Fuck, why did I buy an HOUR'S worth of internet? I still have a good half hour left. Oh well, I wonder if you can look up porn on the airport computers?

Actually, there are still tourists looking over my shoulder. Hi guys, guess what I have in my bag? Yes, that's right, A NITROGEN BOMB. MWAHHAHAHA. Ooh, an airport lady just walked past. Hmm, I'd better be inconspicuous.

I hate air travel.

*To be sung to the tune of On Top Of Old Smokey
**With a nail sticking out of it
***I tell you, that kid with leukimia set HIMSELF on fire!
****So I said 'Yeah, mum's a terrorist' in the BA departure lounge on the way to Thailand and the security woman looked shocked; sue me.
*****That reminds me; there's a real wigga sitting behind me. His ghetto clothes sure mark him out as a true member of da hood. What a twat.
^I'm on a different flight itinery; fuck them.