Fatty Boombulatti

Think back to the days when you had Converse sneakers on your feet, a flannel tied around your waist, and were still mourning the relatively new death of Kurt Cobain while you thanked the Lord that Eddie Vedder was still around. Well, according to the airlines, way back in good old Nineteen Ninety Five, you were ten pounds lighter. Of course, this is obviously true for all the youngsters out there, who were nothing but 15 year old loser boys trying desperately to catch a glimpse of some breasts or MAYBE touch them. As for girls?...well, whatever. You were bitches then, too.

Airlines are spending an extra 275 million jetting our fat asses around the world these days, and in the midst of dwindling travel and high competition, these poor suckers are really losing bucks. I'm no economist or nothin', but I can see how these folks are sweatin' it. They've had to turn to good old-fashioned know how to lighten the planes.

They can't get us to do some Jazzercise or eat one less packet of Cheez-Its, but they CAN change out their metal silverware for plastic. They also have stopped stocking big ole magazines for us to read with our small, pig-like eyes.

This notion spooks me a little. What's next? No Sky Mall catalogs? One less flight attendant? No bathrooms? Or worse, no PAPER TOWELS in the bathroom?

In the end, the airline bigwigs get what they deserve. I am going to go out on a limb here and make a bold claim: It's THEIR fault. Yeah, I think that United, Delta, Continental, American--heck, even SOUTHWEST--are to blame for this. Why?

We can't smoke on planes anymore.

This whole Fatty McGee problem is an American thing, of course. Have you ever taken a flight coming back from a "third world" nation? Say, like Ecuador? Well, I have, and let me tell you. When I stepped off that airplane onto American soil, I smelled like an ashtray that had been used and abused by every passenger in the main cabin. I was so happy to get some fucking oxygen in my lungs that I even tolerated that fact that I was in Miami. Who ever says that? No one but non-smokers on international airplanes.

Sure, I had second-hand nicotine coarsing through my wee HellCat veins faster than the speed of light. Of course my eyelids felt like they were being raked over sandpaper every time I blinked. But that plane got here so fast, you would have thought we were being carried on the wings of an eagle sent straight from heaven. As I exited the plane, I could have sworn I heard the captain say something like, "Dios mio, Pepito! We have so much fuel, what are we going to do? and Pepito was like, "Si, yo se! There's so much of it, let's just dump it in some kiddie pools and let our children play in it for awhile! Como no!" and they laughed and laughed.

So if you can't give up those Ding Dongs and Ho Hos, or your Little Debbie Snack Cakes (wink!), then spark up a fag, or a cigarette (double wink!) and board that plane.

I'm writing a letter. Who's with me?

hancock. g