Cranial Vomit

Below begins the first of many blog posts I had written on my month’s holiday in Indonesia. For those not paying attention, I had spent approximately 2 weeks in Jakarta followed by 3 weeks in Bali thereafter.

The blog posts were written on my PDA which is roughly the size of a cigarette packet and I have chosen to post them unedited. Because of the cramped screen and the disjointed state of mind that I was usually in when I wrote the posts, some articles may seem a lot more odd compared to the usual rantings that you are all used to from me.

You may laugh, you may cringe, you may even find the posts full of nonsensical gibberish - but unashamedly I still choose to share them all with you over the coming weeks.

So enjoy post number one…..

lets see.. I’ve been in the air for about 2 hours now and i fully understand why people would want to blow themselves up in these giant cigar tubes of melancholy.. its not about dedicating them self to a worthy cause and it isn’t about sacrificing themselves for entry to a heaven accompanied by 40 virgins… no, the real reason why people strap several sticks of plastic explosives to themselves for flights is to simply irradiate fucking annoying 6 year olds who wont shut the fuck up.

i haven’t been properly asleep since 6am yesterday morning.. it’s 10:30am right now. the plan was to take a sleeping pill when i got on the plane, knock myself out for a couple of hours and then wake up all refreshed in Jakarta, the glorious capital of the tropical archipelago of Indonesia.

but alas, no.

lo and behold there is a little fucktard behind me who wont shut the hell up. honestly, if this continues for another hour, I’m bound to leap over this seat and try to cram the little fucker back into the diseased crusty cunthole it slithered out of.

whats worse with this situation is that thanks to me being newly ipodless, i have two choices to drown out the little mongrel’s shouting - listen to the in-flight audio feeds or listen to the in-flight movie. Well, thats what a seasoned traveler would have to assume anyway.

unfortunately the god given right for a jet-setter such as myself to listen to any of the numerous audible feeds was unavailable to all on board.

it seems someone at the catering company forgot to restock the complimentary headphones so it took almost half the flight for the air crew to decide what to do.

In the end, a decision was to pipe the in-flight movie’s audio through the plane’s public announcement system. I believe the flick was by the name of “Akeelah and the Bee”, an uplifting tale about a kid in a bad neighborhood who decides to join some spelling bee… or some wanky clichéd movie that foreshadows every single plot element in the first half and slowly shits it back at the audience in a fashion which suggested you decided to digest a pot full of Indian curry chased by a two litre bottle of laxatives.

I really didn’t pay attention to the celluloid puddle of diarrhea on screen, so don’t quote me on that quip of a movie review.

The combination of the drivel that came from the movie, the little wankstain hollering behind me and the roar of the jet engines perched on the wings, barely within spitting distance of my head started to bug me.

As you could guess, I had already been quite irritable for most of the day prior to departure, so I was more than willing to jump out of my chair and stab a flight attendant in the eyeball with one of those tiny desert spoons that comes with your jelly.

thankfully i brought my own headphones. Not sure why, but I did anyway. I plugged them into my arm rest and was presented with a plethora of a selection to listen to. And by plethora, I mean the complete opposite, as I have decided for the purpose of this very paragraph to play the game of calling everything the complete opposite of what it truly is. For example, my flight was pleasant, quiet and I was served by attendants that were so sexually arousing that I could take my newly extended appendage and use it as a mechanism to demolish several high rise buildings. Remember people – I’m playing the opposites game now. Ain’t it fun?

The choice which i had on offer for me by radio Garuda was either:

the super happy ultra fun fun family fun station;
talkback with frank the mentally retarded deep sea fisherman; or
john mellencamp’s top 20 songs to slit your wrists to.

As appealing as adorning myself with a new set of crimson wrist bracelets, I was unable to find anything sharp enough to pierce flesh – the butter knife ended up just giving me a rather irritating rash. in the end i just plugged my headphones into my Nintendo DS and listened to the Mario theme song loop over and over and over again. for fucks sakes, even having my nutsack dipped in sulfuric acid after getting sucked on by my 97 year old grandfather whilst getting a deep rim job by a resurrected Hitler would be a lot more fun than the flight at this point.

for about the time it took to write the above couple of paragraphs (keep in mind, I’m writing this on my PDA at a speedy 20 words per minute), that little knobgobbler behind me had kept quiet but now he is kicking my chair at an irratic pace and sounds like he’s about to start wailing again. i’m sure once he starts screaming again, not many people would object me stretching his prepubescent foreskin over his head and seeing how far down the cabin i could punt him.

he better hope he’s Jewish.

oy vey.

as my mind wanders to what it would feel like if i fashioned a makeshift pocket pussy out of this little stick of butter and the aluminum foil container that was wrapped around the soggy omelette which Garuda has lovingly supplied me for sustenance, i think to myself what would happen if we crash landed on a deserted island inhabited by polar bears, wispy smoky beings and a story arc longer than the ear hairs protruding from that old bloke in front of me. after surveying the passengers around me, i have a strong suspicion that the odds of me (in the event of a plane crash on a deserted island) eventually finger-banging that rather attractive Japanese tourist a few rows in front of me under the shade of a palm tree would be quite low.. however the odds of getting brutally finger-banged by that fat hairy bloke 3 seats to my left would be quite high.

i quickly tried to think about another subject but that guy started to fascinate me. over the last hour i have seen him whip out the latest issue of Girlfriend magazine followed by an issue of Dolly magazine. what fully grown man reads magazines aimed at the female teen demographic in the company of others?

that kind of reading material should only be read at home… alone…. with a tub of personal lubricant, a ripe banana, several handfuls of baking soda and a large box of Kleenex… but make sure you don’t stain the pages, otherwise your kid sister will tell mum on you for stealing her tube of KY warming jelly even though the little cow wouldn’t accept the fact that it was there for both of our benifi…..

uh, what was i saying?

oh… we seem to be descending… that was fast.. time to land.. errr in the ocean? shouldn’t there be a large land mass below me?

WHAT THE HELL?!?!

this isn’t Kansas anymore Toto..

This isn’t the Soekarno-Hatta International Airport.. This isn’t even Jakarta.. It’s not even the same bloody island…

Suddenly a runway appeared out of nowhere on which the plane decided to land on.

Suck me sideways, we had just landed in the wrong city.

oh fuck.