Can she do it from a kiosk?
Can she blog in 21 minutiosk?
She will do it from afar!
She will do it, no door ajar!
She will do it from a foreign keyboard!
She will do it like a sneebord!
I don't know. I'm out of rhymes. In case y'all didn't gather, I'm at Narita KuKo, waiting for my plane to depart. I cannot believe that I chose to NOT spend my money at the DUTY FREE STORE (although I did buy some perfume. Mmm. Perfumey! For my Dad. It says "Geraid!" And then something about skin and hair wild and sexy. HEE!)
So here I am, typing away minding my own beeswax. Beexwax? BEEWAX and this is what the lady says, "American Airlines paging flight 168 passenger Mrs. Cock Pushin. Mrs. Cock Pushin." And I look around wondering if I am fucking hallucinating from this good shit, but I see an American couple with the lady guffawing uncontrollably and know that she is fucked up too. And you know what I think to myself? COCK PUSHIN. Is that Korean? Cuz I am a linguistic motherfucking genius, that's why.
Oh dear computer goddess, my time is running out and I am POSITIVE that I have more hundred yen coins in my planner, but do I type/edit? Or dig? Type/edit? Or dig? Let me read that out loud to you so you can hear how it sounds in my echoey head. Type slash edit (inflection up) ? Or dig (Ummm...you have to hear like the pigs rooting through the dirt for truffles sound here. And then the clink clink of money and think about your hands smelling all coin-y and metal-y, mmm kay?) ? Shit. I am watching the timer tick down. I'm goin' in. I dig.
Phew! That was damn near an emergency. In addition to looking for Mrs. Cock Pushin, I also smell like French Whore. Maybe French Gigolo on account of the fact that I was accosted by one of those sprayers, who was nowhere near as cute as Joey. He wasn't even the same ethnicity. Which has nothing to do with attractivness, but if you're going to look like THE TRIBIANI, you should probably be of the Caucasian persuasion. Right? Yeah. French Gigolo by the name of Chanel Allure. Maybe if I smell like man, and an expensive one at that, icky, sweaty airport men won't talk to me.
Which brings me to my next point. Why do Americans do that? Talk to each other in random airports, hunh? BEE LEEVE me, if I wanted to initiate a conversation, I would. I mean, when's the last time you saw a group of (insert random nationality here) standing around in the airport chewing the fat just because they speak the same language? Not that far-fetched maybe, but cut me some slack. I'm on a motherfucking roll! With butter! But I'm feeling kind of nauseated right now, and I just want to smell the damn perfume (that I can't fucking afford) so leave me the hell alone! Unless you're looking for someone to puke on your shoes, in which case, "How YOU doin'?"
Know how fucking funny I am? I ordered a sandwich from my mom when I called her to tell I was leaving for the airport. Aren't I a damn riot? Classy broad = me.
Time's a wastin' y'all. I must run. I just spent $6.00 on all y'all's asses. Don't be callin' me cheap!
Kiss kiss. Ala Jill Sobule. Be safe, and I'll see you on the other side. Y'all come back now, you hear?