I'm my grumpy old self again. Freakin' freakin' freakin' hell. How did that happen? If Ali were here, I'd knock his teeth out just for the fun of it. And I like the guy. Sting like a bee crap. I'm that pissed. When I woke up this morning, this b.e.a.u.t.i.f.u.l. morning, a January morning in the year 2013, 'Happy New Year! Happy New Year!', I heard the birds sing my favorite song—Copacabana—and I felt strangely compelled to make myself a romantic hot-n-steamy cup of tea in turd expert Angie's pink Winnie the Poo mug. (Yes, I can make a cup in a mug and I know how to spell that furry creature's name, thank you very much. I'm grumpy as I write this, remember? And I'm talking to myself, so what? I'm trying to buy some tickets here!)
Cheap cheap tickets.
The sweestest cheapest plane tickets you've ever laid eyes on.
Well, that was the plan. That's what that Cheap Tickets website promised me. It showed a picture with a smiling lady too that said, 'Why pay more? Get yourself a Cheap Ticket.' The only words missing were 'I swear. Just don't believe me.'
Freakin' hell. I thought I was gonna buy myself a plane ticket that would cost me around 80 dollars. Upbeat and fully degrumped, I typed in my name, address, the whole you-don't-want-to-know-what and then it said: 170 dollars. What! 170 dollars?! There had to be some kind of mistake. All the while last year's grumpiness was starting to kicking in again. Where were my glases? I mean, the last time I saw the inside of a school my teacher assured me 170 bucks and 80 bucks were no twin brothers. Shit. If that smiling Cheap Tickets lady were here, I'd strongly advise her to wipe that stupid smile right of her face and give me my ticket. I need my ticket. I want my ticket. My golden ticket. Oh I know what she would say.... 'Happy New Year, Grumpy. Now show me the dough.'
And I needed six tickets, not one. Being ripped off once I could bear. But six times...That's like unpleasant sex six times in a row. You wouldn't be smiling then, would you? I needed three one-way tickets times two, for Angie will be joining me on my trip around Spain in this ol' part of the world. The first ticket was supposed to cost me $80, turns out it's really $170. I may have told you this before. Ticket number 2 would set me back, what, $50. Now I've wised up, for I'm fully aware fifty means a hundred and ten. And ticket number 3... Do you really want to know? Well, $95 translates perfectly into two hundred and then some. In the States, when they say it's cheap, it's cheap. Over here it's just a big fat lie. They should go into politics, is what they should.
Sigh. I'm fresh out of short sentences. I need a drink.
Better make that a cheap one.
P.S. 1: Bob really is my uncle.
P.S. 2: I was supposed to write about ants in my pants.
P.S. 3: P.S. does not stand for Play Station.
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