February 20, 2014
Attention: Mr. Ben Baldanza, CEO — Spirit Airlines
Dear Mr. Baldanza:
Look at the photo above. Take a really good look. Press your eyeballs right up against the screen. Sniff. Take it all in.
THAT’S WHERE I BUNKERED DOWN LAST NIGHT. All because of your incompetent ass-joker tinker-toy excuse of an airline.
Check out the breezeway with chunks of sour vomit splattered right outside my motel front door. What you don’t see were the gangbangers wandering the hallways the entire night, slamming doors, screaming profanities, serenaded by a hissing nest of feral cats parked outside my window making it IMPOSSIBLE to get any sleep. I ended up at this slimeball slumber party — all because of YOU. Make that, because of YOUR AIRLINE.
That’s right. It’s YOUR fault. SPIRIT AIRLINES FAULT. At the time I should have been buckled into my seat up in the air sipping away on my third cocktail some 35,000 feet over Kansas, instead I was padlocked into a dive motel room trying to tune out an argument down the hallway that thankfully didn’t escalate into gunfire. Oh, and I think at least one of the females was in heat. One of the cats, I mean.
Tell me something. Be honest. Would you want to stay in this shithole?
I don’t understand the appeal of strip clubs at all. Someone please explain this to me.
Strip clubs are obviously very popular, not just in Las Vegas, but just about everywhere. When I travel around the country, wherever I go, I’m amazed at how many strip clubs there are. Parking lots are usually full at all hours, day and night.
There’s probably a joke in there somewhere as to why I would notice so many strip clubs and the number of cars in parking lots. Truth is, there are so many clubs around, that it’s impossible not to notice them.
I haven’t been inside a strip club in several years. The last time I spent anytime at all in them with regularity was when I was in my early 20s. But that was all just an excuse to go out with freinds and drink beer. It was a rite of passage. That said, one would think most people eventually grow out of that adolescent stage.
But many people I talk to enjoy going out to strip clubs for reasons I just can’t comprehend. To me, paying money to sit in a dark place so you can watch naked female flesh parading non-stop in front of your eyes is absurdly ridiculous. It’s sort of like going out to a fancy restaurant, ordering a $50 steak, and then be forced to sit there and stare at it all night long. I mean, what’s the fucking point? Who would enjoy doing something like that?
Remember the tragic story of the pilots who took off from an airfield in Florida many years ago? They got lost during the flight and then disappeared, presumably ending up somewhere in the Devil’s Triangle.
At least the men who went missing and were never found had some legitimate excuses for veering off course. After all, they were flying World War II-era planes. They lacked sophisticated nautical systems. They didn’t have global tracking devices.
Such a thing couldn’t possibly happen today, could it?
In this modern day and age, imagine two grown men, both supposedly intelligent and semi-technologically advanced, getting so ridiculously lost that they would end up 120 miles away from their final destination. Impossible, right?
Tonight, I encountered something I don’t ever recall seeing — an airport check-in counter without a single flyer.
Not a single passenger, except for me.
I don’t know whether to be thrilled, or terrified. Should I be making a mad dash for the nearest exit?
It’s precisely 5:30 pm at the Las Vegas Airport. This place is supposed to be packed with travelers. I approach the American Airlines ticket counter, which always has a line. To my surprise, four agents are standing there waiting around with absolutely nothing to do.
Again, should I be loving this, or search for news about a bomb scare?
Who’s the king of Las Vegas comedy?
Right now, I’d split my vote three ways: