The hunt begins at birth; the mission becomes clearer and clearer. But no man can act alone. By cross-referencing Google Flights, Kayak, Expedia, Hopper, and Deltaโs Twitter bot, you should be able to secure and execute your destiny: a $650 ticket from Denver to Minneapolis via Kansas City.
I went down a river once when I was a kid. Thereโs a place in the riverโI canโt rememberโthat must have been a gardenia plantation or flower plantation at one time. Itโs all wild and overgrown now, but for about five miles, youโd think heaven just fell on the earth in the form of gardenias. For the voyage, I packed one native pelt, a pound of water buffalo jerky, and my machete. That should suffice for your six days at Disneyland Paris.
I watched a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor. Thatโs my dream; thatโs my nightmare. Crawling, slithering, along the edge of a straight razorโฆ and surviving. My other nightmare was when my Uber took a wrong turn on my way to LAX, and I missed my flight to Hanoi by ten minutes.
Itโs impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means. But Iโll give it a shot: the TSA line.
A man came to this village once. He bore credentials I had yet to see before. Or since. A CLEAR representative, he called himself. I let him in. He investigated my eyes, my thumbs. He told me he was scanning them. Upon arrival at Chicago Midway, I was met with a grim fate. It wouldnโt read them. It wouldnโt read them.
Youโre an errand boy sent by grocery clerks to collect a bill. I see; I am mistaken. You are a steward of this Chiliโs Too. In that case, I will have an order of Southwestern eggrolls and a Tiki Beach Party margarita.
Have you ever considered any real freedoms? Freedoms in the opinion of others. Even in the opinions of yourself? Because theyโre all out the window at this overcrowded American Airlines Admirals Club.
Are my methods unsound? Oh, I apologize to my fellow travelers in row 26. My Bluetooth headphones havenโt connected to my phone, so itโs been blaring โThe Soft Paradeโ into your eyeballs.
If I were to be killed, I would want someone to go to my home and tell my son everything. Everything I did, everything you saw. Because there is nothing I detest more than the stench of lies. To do that, youโll have to make it to Georgia and its Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. On second thought, I detest Hartsfield more. So to recap: Atlantaโs airport, one. Lies, two. In the detestation rankings.
We train young men to drop fire on people, but their commanders wonโt allow them to write โfuckโ on their airplanes because itโs obscene! Iโll tell you whatโs obscene: those furry animals on the side of the Frontier crafts.
As long as cold beer, hot food, rock โnโ roll, and all the other amenities remain the expected norm, our conduct of the war will only gain impotence. Also, the United flight attendant said they were out of everything besides the Tapas Snackbox.