Blue sock

I woke up at 4:00 a.m. EST this morning. I had a plane to catch at 6:00. I was in a hurry, bitch. I've had this problem since I was like, an embryo, where I never have any fucking socks. Ever. So, following a trend that I've been more ore less married to since I was conceived, this morning I just grabbed all the socks I could find, regardless of size, lace frilling around the ankle, and evidently, color. I threw some on all blearyeyed this morning in the dark just thinking, you know, socks are socks and shit fuck all those bitches who say other wise, I'm so sick of those motherfuckers always telling me about socks and shit, I'll cut them all up, etc. So yeah Jump to the second leg of my little trip back home to Central America. I got the aisle seat on an emergency row, because for some reason Continental hasn't seen my arrest record or something and they assume I can be charged with the duty of saving the lives of 200 some-odd white Texan women that have to leave the country to adopt because they want to strengthen the Hispanic Republican voting base and pay less for college or something someday. I hate Texan women. My death in a horrific crash on flight 1121 would have been a worthy sacrifice to have killed them all. Do you know what 200 dead Texan women would do to the quarterly earnings of Hallmark stores and Kmarts with a Hallmark gold crown section in them? Anyway. So I've got all this leg room right? I do, I know I'm right. Fuck you. So I've got this leg room. So I take advantage of it and put my left leg over my knee to achieve a higher plane of sitting comfort. That's when this enormous male flight attendant makes a comment about my blue sock. Sock, not plural. I just had one. This led me to beleive not only do I desperately need to start coordinating my socks, but that I also need to kill more mle flight attendants for calling me out on my shit. But it didn't stop there. He tried to talk to me. I had my head down. I didn't even acknowledge the sock comment cause hey, we've all got our problems, I just want to move on and forget it. But no, Mr. I Failed beauty school in the eighties when it was cool to have my haircut so I'm going to take it out on you decided to get all up in my shit about my book. So I kicked a pregnant woman who happened to be walking by in the gut and I went to sleep using the flight attendant's skin as a blanket.


Cause you know, airplanes are cold.