Look, I don’t pretend to know everybody’s life or their story or where they came from or whatever, all I claim to be is moderately bitchy and grammatically accurate about 85% of the time. But it doesn’t matter if you spent the first decade of your life getting bombed in Baghdad or if you grew up eating foie gras three meals a day – you don’t dry your panties with airplane vents.
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And despite my initial sass, I pity this woman for two reasons:
The fuck sort of shit went down for her panties to be SO WET that she had to take them off and DRY THEM mid-flight? Girl must either be sitting next to John Stamos or she spent the wait time in the TSA line agressively flickin’ that bean.
If you’re gonna take your panties off and show them around in public, make them sexy. A thong, some lace, whatever – but these look like she shops in the little boys’ clearance section at GAP. Anytime you see a pair like those out in public they’re either decorated with skid marks or being worn by a small child, which you should stop taking note of ya goddamn perv.
But most of all I pity every other person riding that plane who had the misfortune of looking up, seeing those panties held high to get dry and then had to either choose to pretend they were hallucinating or furiously smash the flight attendant call button, because what the fuck. The only thing you wanna see less than ghetto panty drying on a plane is a bomb, and it’s a close race – on one hand a bomb will make the flight shorter, but you’ll (probably) die. On the other hand only god knows what diseases are being blown about the cabin off those panties, so for all we know it’s only a matter of time until you die a slow, painful death. Clearly out of these two choices, the smart choice is just quitting while you’re ahead and taking the bomb.
Either way, the emotional trauma from both is almost enough to make you start driving everywhere…almost.[snax_content]