The other day one of my friends posted online that he no longer considers flying to be safe. Fair enough. I mean, it could be a coincidence that we had three plane crashes in just as many weeks immediately after Trump fucked with the FAA, but I doubt it. As the industry is now, you couldn't pay me to get on a plane, especially one made by Boeing. I would advise you to boycott *all* airlines until they get their act together. It might just save your life.
(Also, fuck the airlines anyway. They just appealed to Trump to chop a concept known as "passenger compensation review." In other words, they want their customers to have no recourse if things go wrong with their flights. Remember when that door came off a Boeing plane in midflight? What if the person sitting there had been sucked out into the wild blue yonder? If the airlines get their way, that person's family wouldn't be able to get compensated for their loved one's death. If your luggage gets lost? You have no recourse. If your flight has to make an emergency landing somewhere? You have no recourse. Now they have to pay you if something goes wrong thanks to Biden, but soon? Fuck the airlines. Boycott them. They're convenient, I know, but train rides are a lot better, anyway. And cheaper.)
One way or the other, I shouldn't go on planes. Flying gives me incredibly powerful gas. I could drown out gunshots with my airplane flatulence. I sneak them into the seat, and due to the air pressure, it doesn't make as much noise as it should. I'm sure, however, that I'm betrayed to my seat neighbors by the grim rumblings from beneath me.
And I still need to fart profusely after we land. I try to get them all out of me in the nearest bathroom, but I never fail to be painfully full of gas by the time I get to where I'm staying.
It turns out there is a scientific explanation for this! Say the plane is at 30,000 feet. At seven thousand, the cabin pressure is lower than sea level, which causes any gas onboard to expand.
That includes gas in people.
It is my proposal, then, that we throw politeness out the door without a parachute and just let 'er rip. Turn our planes into flying fart machines. Let's not all be pained by bloating. It won't be nasally pleasant, but we'll be a lot more comfortable.
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