Wednesday 11 June 2014

11.6.14 The Cunt In 4D




Blundercunt

Sadly the change by Ryanair to move to "allocated seats" resulted in a disaster.  It left me wishing I could have once again scrambled in a mad crowd to find a space of my choosing.  As it was, I was put in row three, with Mrs MWSC and Junior, for the flight to Spain.  I therefore found myself in seat 3D, which very sadly was just one seat in front of the loudest cunt I've encountered for some considerable time.

This was not the only trait for the cunt.  Loudness is not necessarily a problem, if the frequency with which 125 decibels are imparted is low.  Unfortunately the cunt in 4D was a talkative loud cunt.  This was, is, and always will be, a disastrous combination for anyone in the vicinity - especially those 35,000 feet above the Bay of Fucking Biscay, en route to Spain, and most particularly those in seats 3D, 3E and 3F.

Leaning forward, with hands over my ears, did nothing at all to defend me from the onslaught.  The very best I could achieve was to insert two fingers so far into my ears that they almost met, but find I was still, whilst seemingly underwater, being stalked and shouted at by a cunt of a monk fish with a megaphone.  I could feel pains in my chest, and I wondered if a heart attack might be a preferable diversion.  After half a second of consideration, I willed my heat to give up.  I surfaced, and found she had followed me out of the water, without taking breath - she was still talking.

This northern cunt was married to Bob; poor Bob.  Absent Bob?  Lucky Bob! Her friends (how desperate they were for friendship is obvious) were on the other side of the aisle.  The cunt in 4D considered this a long way away, and so adopted the 'blunderbuss' approach to speaking.  Blundercunt was addicted to shouting over at the other three, in between talking at the couple next to her.

Whenever the usually nauseating tannoy announcements filled the air, I was grateful to Ryanair for the interruptions, as they drowned out 60% of Blundercunt's noise.

I decided to eat a sandwich, to try and divert my thoughts away from homicide. The cheese and ham was good, but still I heard the cunt rambling on.  I wondered should I sacrifice a sandwich and offer her one, to stem the flow of shit.  I dismissed this on the grounds that she was sure to be someone who likes to talk with her mouth full.

I willed Ryanair to offer me Scratchcards, more overpriced snacks and drinks, gift items and smokeless cigarettes - anything to encourage substitute noise.  I decided I needed to occupy myself with a book, but this proved an impossibility; while trying to concentrate on the very first page, I realised the futility of my efforts in trying to prevent shards of voice penetrating my brain through my ears.  Without any writing paper, I decided that my green ink would have to be happy with the pages at the front of my book.  Thus I began to record my pain in my hardback book.




When the cunt's foot arrived, it was vile.  I have just seen a few seconds ago her left foot, as it extended in the aisle, affording her some exercise of something other than her fucking voice box.  She rolled the ankle and I was tempted to reach down with my left hand and break the cunting joint.  I could see the headlines:

On Flight FR2446 to Malaga, TMWSC caused the pilot to land prematurely, so that a nauseatingly loud cunt of a woman could receive treatment for a broken ankle, and have a tan-coloured un-stylish wide-fitting shoe removed from just behind her fucking larynx.

This cunt continued; the accent simply enhanced the awfulness of the relentless shit that filled the cabin.  The pitch of her voice stabbed and killed my brain cells at will, and my ability to hear any screeching birds at a wildfowl sanctuary is now non-existent.  This cunt has eradicated my ability to hear certain frequencies.

For a short period, 4DC stood in the aisle, leaning towards her three friends.  In effect, she replaced loud talking with causing an obstruction.  People going too and from the loo were forced to negotiate her rump for any chance of making progress.  It was not long, though, before she sat down again and the auto-talk at 125db started up.

Let me make one thing very clear - she did not utter a single thing in hours that was of the slightest interest, use or value.  I concluded that she needed to be on the end of a rope.  Cunt-On-A-Rope would be rather more fantastic than the Soap-On-A-Rope that prevailed in the 1970s.  I started to get very desperate, and studied the Ryanair information to see if I could exit the aircraft.




It did not take long for me to establish the nearest exit, and how to open the fucking door.  Despite the lack of a parachute, I was tempted to proceed with my emergency exit, as a conclusion to my dreams of ending the nightmare. 4DC called the attendant and asked for yet more Heineken - I suddenly wondered whether he would be compliant if I asked him to spike it.  I am sure I spoke out loud, but he obviously didn't hear, so my plea for Rohypnol to be administered was lost in the skies above Madrid.  Half and hour to go.

Impossible Request of the Day

"Sit back, relax, and enjoy the rest of the flight."  [Ryanair announcement]


In the final few minutes of the flight, I was able to allow myself a glimmer of hope, and recognition of a chance that I'd be 4D-Cuntless in about half-an-hour. This would not of course mean I could easily forget the tremendous amount of shit that had been injected into my brain over the last three hours, but at least there was a light ahead.  I new rather too much about her life, all 43 years of it, and I have decided not to include such bollocks in this account of my dire straits.  During the last minutes, 4DC exchanged pointless words with her friend who occupied the middle of the three seats on the other side of the aisle. I learned from the friend that she'd swallowed three tablets, to try and counter her travel sickness and fear of flying.  4DC wanted to know what they were like. The friend said that they slow your heart down.  4DC asked "can I try one?" and I nearly turned round and demanded that she be given three bottles of them!




By the way, my book was excellent - I'd recommend it.

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