sailordave

#correct

Fri, 11 Jan 2013 06:07:25 -0500

#correct

jollyformolly: Challenge accepted Winning

Wed, 09 Jan 2013 22:24:59 -0500

jollyformolly:

Challenge accepted

Winning

patella: me That’s some shit right therr

Wed, 09 Jan 2013 22:22:27 -0500

patella:

me

That’s some shit right therr

thejediwalking: Warning

Wed, 09 Jan 2013 04:15:43 -0500

thejediwalking:

Warning

thepowerofthedarkside: Jesus Katie! When you see it.. Your...

Tue, 01 Jan 2013 04:40:30 -0500

thepowerofthedarkside:

Jesus Katie!

When you see it.. Your testicles will explode..

vickyaishablackthorn: ME - Contortion Bodyscape by Hoak...

Sat, 29 Dec 2012 03:02:30 -0500

vickyaishablackthorn:

ME - Contortion Bodyscape by Hoak Photography.

#strange #interesting #powerful

#bdsm #bound #powerexchange #funtimes

Sat, 29 Dec 2012 03:00:13 -0500

#bdsm #bound #powerexchange #funtimes

#beer #pals #gak #goodtimes #batmanshirt #batman

Sat, 29 Dec 2012 02:58:16 -0500

#beer #pals #gak #goodtimes #batmanshirt #batman

vickyaishablackthorn: Captured Photography :) #delicious

Sat, 29 Dec 2012 02:57:00 -0500

vickyaishablackthorn:

Captured Photography :)

#delicious

#behappy

Sat, 29 Dec 2012 02:56:25 -0500

#behappy

#beer

Mon, 24 Dec 2012 09:07:59 -0500

#beer

#winning

Mon, 24 Dec 2012 09:03:17 -0500

#winning

thepowerofthedarkside: To resist masturbating is like trying to resist the Darkside of the Force.

Mon, 24 Dec 2012 09:02:46 -0500

thepowerofthedarkside:

To resist masturbating is like trying to resist the Darkside of the Force.

#hobbit #smaug

Mon, 24 Dec 2012 09:02:10 -0500

#hobbit #smaug

vickyaishablackthorn: these photos was taken roaming the back...

Sun, 23 Dec 2012 00:11:48 -0500

vickyaishablackthorn:

these photos was taken roaming the back streets of Nortcote in my lingerie with Peter from Captured Photography :)

By golly..

Episode # 5 Humping on a caboose. Names and places changed (but not really)

Sat, 24 Nov 2012 12:33:00 -0500

The timing for our departure was perfect. Holly Wood had treated us well but it was growing tedious. We had stopped into LA INK to see old mate Kat Von Tits but she wasn’t there. Turns out some random B team holds the fort while Kat and Co are not actually filming their show. The B team huddled close and whispered to themselves while glaring at all the tourist who come into the studio to gawk and try to see the celebrities. Oh well. TV doesn’t care to inform you of what is happening when filming has wrapped. Not a lot it turns out. Still, the steak house was fun and the Mexican food everywhere was nice. I realised how little Mexican food we have in Australia. Our menus are full of Indian cuisine. Chinese too. Despite some minor grumblings LA served cold beer and provided plenty of “Boobs of Wonder” eye candy. That is basically a game males play with themselves trying to work out which boobies are real and which ones are fake. Not that it really mattered but it’s a fun game none the less.

Short Fuse and I made it to our station with minimal fuss. Unfortunately we had a bit of a wait at the station, but we were getting used to watching the humans pass us by and making various judgments.

The Union Station in LA is fricken hot and muggy. It is a beautiful old building that definitely conveys a railway station chic. Arched ceilings.. Hobos etc. We made our way up the platform to our train and I was overcome with a massive wave of paranoia. You see, after 911 Americans became very paranoid and immediately went into trusty American reactionary mode and doubled the amount of douche bags in uniform acting as “security”. I noticed a policeman on the platform near our train. Normally this wouldn’t bother me but this particular brand of filth had mans best friend in tow. Mans best friend has an uncanny ability to smell things. Things I would rather not be smelled on my person. I am much too handsome for any kind of incarceration. Short Fuse and I had a very nervous 15 minutes in our seats while waiting for departure. We could see the filth and his four legged, nimble nosed friend on the plat form. Their alertness was very unsettling. Would they do a snappy sweep of the train before departure?

Turns out they wouldn’t. Which is good as I had absolutely no good excuse for any of the mischief I may or may not have been privy too. From now on when I watch Cops on tv, I will laugh under my breath as the dialogue runs like this:

Highway patrollman to strange looking man he has just pulled over in a shitty old Buick: “Good evening Sir. License and registration please?”

Fidgeting driver: “Oh Hi officer. Ahh.. Umm.. I don’t have the registration i’m sorry..”

Hands the officer his license..

“oh you don’t? Who’s car is this?”

“What… This car? Ahhh.. It’s my friends..”

“I see and who is your friend?”

“ahh.. ummm… It’s my cousin….”

“oh okay. What is their name?”

“Who? The passenger here?” Waves a nervous thumb at his passenger.. “Ahhh I was just giving her a ride…”

“okayy… What is their name?”

“Who?”

“Your passenger..” At this point the officer smiles genuinely as the plot is thickening somewhat..

“Ahh.. Um.. She is my cousin..”

“Right.. What is her name?”

“Jenny. No wait RITA. Rita her name is Rita.. And I’m not going to lie to you officer. She is a hooker. I just picked her up. We were going back to my hotel as I had negotiated certain… Ahhh… Affections with her.. We were going to do meth off each others naked bodies and see what would happen if we stapled our toes to the ceiling fan…. I’m American…”

At this point the passenger has placed her palm on her head and is trying to figure out a good story… You get the idea..

Anyways our train pulled out of Union station. The air was a harsh Californian orange… I was just thankful to be out of the damn sun!!

I was quite impressed with the Amtrak train. We were heading to Flagstaff Arizona in what were very spacious seats, plenty of leg room and the best bit was two power outlets next to each seat. This meant we could charge our phones and listen to music etc.. I hope and trust that Sir Richard Branson takes over Australias rail network. free wifi would make the stink bearable.. The was no wifi on this train but you could tell it wasn’t far off…

Short Fuse nestled into her seat and began purring away while I gawked out the window at all the suburbs and hills and such. While short Fuse wasn’t looking I also admired the view down her top which kept me entertained and seated for quite a while..

Eventually the ghettos gave way to mountains and rolling sandy hills. My mood lifted considerably upon leaving the urban jungle.. Cities are fun and all, but give me some space please. The perfect house for me is one where my driver cannot make a golf ball get close to my neighbors patio.

Once the sun began setting Short Fuse and I became very hungry/thirsty. Off we went to the dining cart. For some reason there was a bunch of Amish people on the train. Amish people fricken STINK. Especially so in the afternoon. A long days toil and travel sure builds up a stink in people who don’t use deodorant.. They seemed nice enough and were tolerating the stares and constant probing questions from some hipster couple.. Luckily I had my magic knife strapped to my leg which I had imbibed with talismans and spells to counteract any fuckery from Amish wizards. I felt no threat from them and their sorcery but that didn’t mean I ever lost a visual bead on them.. If they wanted to start some shit.. I was prepared..

Short Fuse and I at some mediocre food and drank some delicious beer. I also had a Jack Daniels.. You can bet your sweet bippy they taste better in the mother land. God bless you Mr Daniels.. Despite the okayness of the food it was very nice to sit down with Short Fuse over a meal and bevo’s. The noise level was significantly lower than any other eatery/drinkery we had been to and we made full use of that by playing footsies and eye balling each other…

After dinner we retired to our seats and drank a few more beers. Be advised. the Amtrak folks are very aware of your alcohol intake and began to mention their wariness when I went to buy round number 6.. This baffled me somewhat as in Australia drinking booze is banned on most trains so we become very good at getting drunk on the sly. Getting drunk on public transport is okay as long as you don’t impact on other passengers. We know this and act accordingly.

Despite that we drank our beers and giggled away quietly until the moon struck midnight…

It was nice to relax on that train… Not so nice to wake up with a dry mouth and a raging travel fat but oh well.

We were pulling up to Flagstaff. It was 4 am and things were looking good for the Grand Canyon…

Episode # 4. Holly Wouldn't. Names and places changed to keep the story telling alive.

Sun, 04 Nov 2012 02:04:01 -0500

We had made it.. Partly.. Short Fuse and I ascended the escillator and were deep in the bowels of Holly Wood. There were more people like us (tourists) scooting this way and that, taking pictures and clogging up the foot path. Yanks and Chinese people alike have no qualms walking on any side of the foot path they choose. No sticking to the preferred side like on the high ways.. It is rather annoying following a family of Asians on the footpath only to have them stop suddenly and gawk at who knows what..

If you are walking on the footpath, heed this advice: Walk confidently at a speed you are comfortable with.. When you need to stop, slow down and move to the outside of the footpath first. Check behind you to ensure you have no sweaty, bleary eyed travelers on your six. If so at least try to take up as little space as possible to ensure a good steady flow of foot traffic.. Do not, under any circumstances stop as those in your troupe will tend to spread out around you and clog up the vibes and groovy aura of a well functioning foot path.. Gather your children to you so they are not trampled or sold on the black market. At no stage should the people following you have to drift into the oncoming lane to avoid you.. This is unsafe and unprofessional. Annoying too. Because now the people you cut off are in the wrong lane and causing unnecessary havoc.

Short Fuse and I needed to walk quite a ways to reach our destination. Hotel Labrea. This trip was made slightly more painful for me by a very hot sun. My skin is too precious and doesn’t deal with the searing heat at all. For reasons I can’t explain I didn’t have my travel hat.. So after 5 minutes my panic was rising. What I was not prepared for was the shear volume of hawkers. Every 10 meters was a new person trying to sell me their demo CD’s, get me to come on a tour of celebrity houses or eat and drink in their establishment. I managed to fall for one hawkers pitch and part with a fiver (I think) for some rap he had made. When I am burning in the sun, tired and a little hungry, my spiders sense are dulled somewhat. Nevermind I thought. It will be legit gangster rap from the heart land.

Hawkers in the states work very hard at not being too obvious with their desperation . They dress nice and are mostly polite but you can tell they have mouths to feed which is a turn off. Seeing the stars on the foot path of all the actors is rather awesome. I did not recognise a lot of them and there fore questioned the validity of giving these people stars. What am I saying. This is their home turf..

We reached the hotel with minimal fuss.. Short Fuse was still swearing violently at being smoked by the Hawker. His initial pitch was that he “Wasn’t selling nothin”. Naturally when my interest was piqued, the price rose dramatically. After a snappy negotiation with the hotel staff we had a room. It is a nice feeling to have a place you can call home base. A snappy wash and off we went into the warm afternoon.

There are many nice joints to eat and drink at on the Holly Wood boulevard. I don’t recall the name of the first one we went to but Short Fuse assured me it was steeped in history. It was a nice place with fantastic wood benches and old tile. As hungry as I was I was wary of the yankie menu.. Yanks don’t have the healthiest overall attitude toward food and produce if TV is to be believed. I ordered a salad of some kind and was pleasantly surprised to be greeted with a good one. Walnuts and strawberries garnished this large plate of goodness. Short Fuse insisted I try sweet potato fries. Her advice was sound as they were delicious. I will endeavor to make them at home in the future. A few Bud Lights later and things were hotting up.

I don’t recall much more from that first night in the U S of A except that I was well feed and watered and slept rather well. The following day was reserved for the seeing of sites. We woke late (naturally) and headed off for the museum of death. It was frightening and interesting at the same time.

The Museum of death is a very strange idea indeed. An homage to serial killers from the U.S and abroad. It is home to a very thorough collection of things once belonging to serial killers. Paintings, letters, autopsy photo’s and various trinkets found on the scene or in the suspects possession at the time of arrest. I felt very strange indeed admiring paintings from the likes of Ted Bundy etc. Some of them were quite good which was hard to wrap my head around considering the heinous nature of the artists and their crimes. I dislike seeing pictures of mutilated corpses immensely and the museum of death was loaded with them. Cuts, burns and other such wounds physically disturb me to my core so I found myself turning away from a lot of things. Seeing a real life electric chair is terrifying no matter what the environment. How establishments believed frying someone with massive amounts of electricity as a good means of punishment is beyond me. Especially when there were audiences. I appreciate that aggrieved parties need to feel a sense of justice and that criminals of violent persuasions need to feel the thunder as said justice is dispensed.. But really? Electrocution? Why not dose criminals with some terrible fear inducing drug and drop them off 200 miles out to sea in a decent storm.. Justice would surely be served and all involved can go to bed at night. Safe in the knowledge punishment was severe.

What really irked me was the total disconnect from reality recreational murderers and serial killers have in common. The sheer violence most of the infamous killers dispensed death with was shocking. A blood orgy. Power hungry drunkards. There are better ways to feel alive.

In Australia I am afraid of our big wide open spaces. Death and fear comes swiftly to those lost in the Aussie wilderness. In America (which is similar in size to Australia) I never feared the wide open land. 300 million inhabitants means that even remote areas are comfortably populated.. In the U.S the fear comes from people and their strange out looks on life.. A terrible desperation in most of their eyes.. A nation living on the edge..

Short Fuse took me to a proper steak house. Mechanical Bull and all. We drank many fine beers, rode the bull and chatted with her friends from the area. It was a great night. One I will never forget. The night I realised I can never properly relax in this strange land.. Too many beers and sneaking off into the bushes for a nap to reduce the fizzing and popping could have dire consequences in America.

What’s with these melancholy vibrations? Short Fuse and I had a couple of wonderful days drinking in the sites around Holly wood. Literally. Our next mission was to Flagstaff and the Grand Canyon.. A mission on one of the worlds greatest rail networks.

Amtrak..

"It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly...."

Thu, 25 Oct 2012 03:17:02 -0400

“It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them. I was so preposterously serious in those days… Lightly, lightly – it’s the best advice ever given me…So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly. Lightly my darling.”

- Aldous Huxley (via sol-psych)

Episode 3. LA is all you've been led to believe from TV (Names and places changed to avoid bizarre laws)

Fri, 14 Sep 2012 23:46:00 -0400

The fog hadn’t quite settled above LA making it a nice place to arrive early in the morning. It could have been cold war Russia for all I cared as the flight had punished me severely. Public places like planes and trains leave me feeling like I have a fine layer of slime all over my body. Like those models who get their bodies painted and pose for pictures. Only without the strange sexiness. Just the slimy feeling of being had. Yes. Air plane rides make me feel like I have been fondled by a drunk fat woman who insists on eye contact.

What am I saying. I had just touched down in the land of the free. The home of the brave and such. As sick as I was, the raw energy coming off the city was palpable. Was I projecting that energy? Perhaps. George Clooney’s speech at the oscars didn’t have such a sour taste now that I was in the belly of the beast. This was where movies and tv shows are made. Porn too. Music, some literature and all manner of creative endeavours stem from LA. My phone was filled with podcasts from www.deathsquad.tv and the Joe Rogan Experience. Sill the fear was lurking. This too was the birth place of Gangster Rap. Dr Dre, Snoop, Cypress Hill, Dj Assault to name but a few. If I didn’t watch myself I may end up capped and robbed by some colourfully dressed heavies.

Bah! Surely they have seen Crocodile Dundee? Old Mick should have let them know that Aussies are to be feared. Any of you yanks reading this better recognise. We can throw rocks with deadly accuracy. We can drink like fish and disappear when the going turns strange.

The US customs officer (obviously named Gomez) chuckled as my wide eyed stinking and sweaty corpse shuffled up to the counter. The term “Fresh Fish” must have been in his mind. For sure.

This was a clever ploy by myself to lul him into a false sense of foresight. You see, I had secured my visa online through the first listed Visa application site on google. I was a little concerned about prior run ins with the law especially after hearing horror stories of people being crash tackled and escorted to a secret room for not owning up to mischief recorded ten years beforehand. The fact that I had applied for and received a visa online had me a little worried. Doing things all online is convenient but it is tough to accept a pretty email saying you are granted access to a country that will fuck you with out kissing you. A person wearing a uniform with a big rubber stamp is definitely better than an email.

Gomez seemed interested in knowing if I had any cigarettes. I found that to be a strange question. Surely he knew of Australia’s heavy taxes on alcohol and tobacco? Was this a test? Was he fucking with my head to see if I would make a run for the door? No it turns out. Luckily my mind was sharp from lack of proper sleep. “Smokes are heaps cheaper hear Sir, I only have half a pack with me. I plan to remedy that very soon.” A few stamps on my passport, my mug shots and finger prints on file and I am whisked into America. A tourist. Official.

My bag arrived after a short but paranoid wait and away I went. The first thing I did in america was have a hobo shower in the handicapped stall of the airport toilets. trying desperately to wash the stink of travel and the mysterious illness off me. Satisfied 10 minutes later the second thing I did was smoke a cig outside. I was not prepared for the heat and humidity, or the sheer volumes of traffic. Pedestrian and vehicular alike. Everywhere I looked there were people scooting this way and that. It took me a moment to adjust to people driving on the wrong side of the road and walking on the wrong side of the foot path (side walk for the yank audience).

With my wits somewhat intact I headed for the terminal to meet my pen pal Short Fuse. I met Short Fuse on www.chatroulette.com a while back. Neither of were masturbating or partying. It was just on in the back ground for no reason other than boredom and loneliness. After what seemed like two hundred dudes beating off, Short Fuse popped up. I thought it strange that she didn’t click ‘continue’ as most girls do on that site. This baffles me because I am fully clothed when on the site and I figure girls would prefer to speak to someone who is fully clothed and not beating off with vigour. . Chicks are weird.. Anyways… I waved. She waved back.

So far so good I thought. Actual human interaction imminent. We exchanged polite hellos and before long were swapping hilarious stories of drunken fuckwittery and near misses with big trouble. I don’t know how long we spoke for but we became friends pretty quick. One of the topics discussed was Burning Man.

“Yadda yadda, Burning Man.” “Yadda yadda yadda I wanna go.” etc.

I had put my name in the draw to win a chance at buying first round tickets. It was a whimsical decision. One of many I had been making of late and actually doing. Naturally I was surprised when I got the tickets a few weeks later!! SHIT. I bought my plane ticket with manic abandon and it was game on.

Short Fuse said she would take my spare ticket if it was available. It was. Then I didn’t hear from her in a while so started making plans to give the spare ticket to someone else. That was difficult to say the least as people wanted to go but couldn’t. Any ways a few short weeks before I was due to leave, Short Fuse surfaced and was ready to go.

Unfortunately I had formally given the ticket to some random yank who had spent a lot of money and effort getting ready for the event. He was also preparing to marry his woman there too. He was rather upset when I reneged and gave the ticket to Short Fuse. It worked out alright for him though as a theme camp had saved him a ticket though I’m sure he had a stressfull couple of days in-between that information haha.

So here I was in LA searching for a tattooed Texan midget I met on chat roulette. It wasn’t hard to spot her. The back pack could have doubled as her sleeping bag.

Short Fuse is a rowdy Texan, five foot fuck all and sixty Kilograms wringing wet carrying a sand bag. Her hair is a sun bleached brown that matches her eyes. Eyes that let you know she is capable with a multitude of firearms and well versed in the specific laws of engagement. You can tell she is from Texas because of the great big fuck off tattoo map of her home state on her torso/hip. She is from the deep south, right on the border with Mexico. That is Cartel country and she brushes of stories of hangings, shootings and decapitation with her morning chai. We hit it off immediately and were both thinking the same thing. Beer. Well actually I was thinking Beer AND FOOD but she was just thinking beer. I noticed her southern drawl and the slight hitch in her gait, perhaps from years of boot scooting and line dancing and dodging the law.

We boarded the bus and headed for Union station. The bus ride was a flip out as we navigated through Inglewood and various ghettos. Despite keeping a keen eye out, I never did see Ice Cube representing. Nor did I see a group of black suited men in Ray-bans discussing Madonna’s love of big black dick. I couldn’t help but draw comparisons to Grand Theft Auto San Andreas. America is incredibly polarised. Just like in the movies and computer games, the dialect and accent can change with each suburb. As can the skin tones and indicators of wealth. The air and general colour of LA is Latin brown or orange. Depending on your outlook.

The bus ride was nice. Air conditioned and direct via the freeways. The train was a different kettle of fish entirely. Mostly underground which is not my natural domain. The fear got to me a little on there. Sure neck and face tattoos are becoming more popular in Australia, but mainly with weedy hipster skater types. Seeing a well built Chicano sporting “LA” in permanent ink on his face is spooky.

My spider senses were on high alert as the train pulled into Hollywood… Safe in the touristy Mecca of the Boulevard.

Episode 2. Airports bring out thy inner fuck wit (names and places changed to protect baby Jesus)

Fri, 14 Sep 2012 19:33:00 -0400

Sydney, like any city, has it’s fair share of fuck wits. For some reason, airports can bring a usually dormant fuck wit complex to the front of the human psyche.

Bee Pops had dropped me off at Sydney international terminal reluctantly. Her jealousy barely held in check by her own decision to travel the world. “Summer at home is going to be all time. Be sure to plan accordingly.” She mused rhetorically. A hug and a wink was all she needed as confirmation.

I rarely look back when saying goodbyes. Get the farewells done and dusted and move on to the next episode. Dwelling on the past can get you in a lot of trouble.

My tickets for this trip had been purchased well in advance. Mainly to facilitate the saving of money for the trip. A failed attempt to make some coin from a dance party the week earlier had me a little down. The feelings slowly faded as I flash back to the nights festivities. The South Coast Crews are legendary for their balls out enthusiasm.

I made my way to check in with the dominant airline and was processed with speedy precision. On my way through to customs some jerk off decided to blatantly cue jump in front of me. Much to the awkward embarrassment of his interesting mid 20’s ish looking daughter.

“No problem mate. After YOU..” I snarled at the ironed button up, khaki wearing scum bag. Something about cue jumping gives me the shits. Wait in line and dream of short skirts and cocktails in swim up bars like every one else. Running late? Ask the good peeps in front of you if you can slide forward. Be humble, smile and lower your eyes. Then nod appreciatively as us good organised folks mumble words of encouragement at you and wave you on. Your lack of time management is not license to ignore others.

“Dad, this man was in front of you.” His daughter pointed out in a sort of strangled whisper. It impressed me that she was embarrassed. Clearly all of Daddy’s speeches of “Mind your manners” during her formative years were just hot air. Out here in airport land, Dads true step on others to get ahead nature had revealed itself.

He begrudgingly turned around and headed for his rightful spot behind me in line. I particularly liked how he couldn’t bring himself to look at me. Naturally I decided to really wind him up. Smiling wickedly I says “No. NO. I INSIST. You are CLEARLY in a hurry. YOU go through.” His eyes went everywhere in the room except the space I occupied. This was cool because I decided to really let myself go and smiled my most charming smile at his daughter. Much to my delight she brightened visibly and smiled back as they hurried by.

Feeling rather smug I continued to dream of cocktails and short skirts while waiting to be processed by customs. After they had processed Mr cue Jumper and his daughter -who I came to call Smiley and share many drinks with at my imaginary swim up bar- I was up. It was a swift process getting through customs passport check. Very streamlined and easy. A short stroll led me to the security gate where things got quite awkward indeed. Not for me, but for Mr Cue Jumper and Smiley.

Mr Cue Jumper was having all kinds of trouble with various metal features of his ridiculous fuck wits uniform. Smiley had made it through and was waiting looking rather upset. You know, like soldiers who have just been humped along by a ruthless officer to the designated target, only to have to hurry up and wait while the officers papers and orders are scrutinised by someone loftier and much more ruthless.

“Good thing you managed to jump the cue chap.” I leered at Mr Cue Jumper. Smiley blushed and smiled and looked away and seemed much happier at that remark. Especially seeing as Mr Cue Jumper had no come back while being told to remove his shoes. I slid through customs like the slippery fish I am and winked at Smiley as I passed. Smiley lived up to her new title fantastically. We both made a point of smiling at each other as we went about our business in the duty free shops and gate lounges. Normally I wouldn’t eye ball a lady when she is with family, but seeing as her old man couldn’t look at me I decided to make an exception!!

I hadn’t even left the country and I was feeling very good about this whole travel caper.

It was while waiting at my departure gate that Karma gave me a little spanking for being so smug. I had purchased a chicken Caesar wrap (for the deficit of Liberia) and a small carton of coconut milk (for reasons I can’t quite explain). The wrap was so expensively small that I downed it with bravado and boarded my plane.

About an hour later I began to feel extremely sick. I needed to vomit. At both ends. It was sure to be violent. It was going to be any moment within the next 60 minutes. The sweating and nausea made me feel frightened and very, very alone.

I normally despise going number twos in plane toilets as they are filthy, no where near sound proof and definitely not adequately ventilated. In spite of that I spent the next hour or so going back and forth from my seat to the cubicle. My body was sweating, dangerously cold and threatening to vomit every couple of minutes.

There were not enough blankets to keep me warm, though I had three on me, plus my hoody. God damn I was sick. At some point i finally vomited and had a turbo dump. By that stage I was so fucken ill i didn’t care where I was.

Surprisingly after spewing, I began to feel much better. I spoke to a hostess and asked for more water and said I was feeling rather ill and can I have a seat some where with less people around.

“Did you throw up?”

“Why yes I did”

“No you didn’t”

“…Ahh WUT? I sure did. Don’t worry though, I cleaned up after myself. I’m responsible with regard to my vomit”

“No you didn’t throw up. If any one asks and you say yes, you will be quarantined in the US..”

I made my way back to my seat and watched An Idiot Abroad, while making very few attention grabbing movements or sounds and furiously apologising to the mother universe for my smugness. At some point I slept, then woke to the captain telling the attendants to prepare for landing. I was fricken boiling hot due to the mass of blankets I had cocooned myself in. The Chicken Ceasar Karma Wrap illness had left me somewhere over the Pacific..

Los Angeles was filling my window with it’s smoggy goodness… I had a very important meeting to attend. A meeting from a chance encounter with an honest to goodness, born and bred, southern drawling, Texan by the name of Short Fuse..