Person 1. The guy at the long stay car park who managed to drive the wrong way along the entry road, delaying me and causing me to have to leg it to the airport terminal. As I reached the terminal entrance I looked back and noticed his car sneaking out of the exit behind a bus to avoid paying his parking charge. You'll be history, mate.
Persons 2, 3 and 4. The parents of Annoying Toddler (and Annoying Toddler, of course). You let the little shyster run rampant on the plane without any kind of discipline. Mother just coo-cooed at him while he rattled the tray table until the people in the row in front must have been ready to chin him. Meanwhile Daddy, who sat there saying and doing nothing, was clearly desperate for a crap, but instead of getting up and going he spent most of the flight farting, which is why I had all the air vents pointing at me, you stinking pig. When he finally hurried, clenched-buttocked to the toilet, his darling son, who had been fed orange juice, chuntered it all over the sodding place. The air was a heady mix of daddy bum gas and son-bille. Christ, was I glad when we touched down.
Person 4. It's cold. I'm sitting right beneath a great stonking air conditioning unit, which is why I need to turn the aircon down while you sit smugly and draft-free in the far corner and snipe at me with your barbed infantile comments.
Person 5. You have a voice. Congratulations. But why in God's name do you have to prattle on endlessly and oh so loudly moaning about people behind their backs? And your phone that continually beeps - turn it off before it disappears up your sphincter.
Persons 2, 3 and 4. The parents of Annoying Toddler (and Annoying Toddler, of course). You let the little shyster run rampant on the plane without any kind of discipline. Mother just coo-cooed at him while he rattled the tray table until the people in the row in front must have been ready to chin him. Meanwhile Daddy, who sat there saying and doing nothing, was clearly desperate for a crap, but instead of getting up and going he spent most of the flight farting, which is why I had all the air vents pointing at me, you stinking pig. When he finally hurried, clenched-buttocked to the toilet, his darling son, who had been fed orange juice, chuntered it all over the sodding place. The air was a heady mix of daddy bum gas and son-bille. Christ, was I glad when we touched down.
Person 4. It's cold. I'm sitting right beneath a great stonking air conditioning unit, which is why I need to turn the aircon down while you sit smugly and draft-free in the far corner and snipe at me with your barbed infantile comments.
Person 5. You have a voice. Congratulations. But why in God's name do you have to prattle on endlessly and oh so loudly moaning about people behind their backs? And your phone that continually beeps - turn it off before it disappears up your sphincter.
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