Free You're Making Me Hate You by Corey Taylor

call SOB, which stands for Souls on Board. This includes pilots, attendants, and passengers. I can guarantee you every day for the rest of my life and yours that number will always be bigger than one, meaning you.
    This fact still doesn’t keep people from corralling around the carpet outlining the entrance to the jet bridge, bunched together like refugees hoping for an extra ham sandwich to split with the kids. They pace in tiny little semicircles, waiting for their group to be called for boarding. Every time a group number is announced that isn’t theirs, they groan, moan, and roll their eyes like teenagers listening to a lecture from their parents. They grip their tickets hard, soaking them in palm sweat. Their teeth grind so loud, I swear I can hear them all from here on my couch. The septic feeling is so powerful, it’s quite hellish. Nobody caresabout anyone else; in fact, if there were no rhyme or reason to the boarding process, people would get trampled like grandmothers in the eighties looking for an affordable Cabbage Patch Kid. It is truly vicious, this vitriol spewing from the faces of the visiting public. That’s why I believe, in order for travelers to come back to a state of enjoyment while flying, TSA should offer blowjobs and/or jellyrolls to everyone right at the curb.
    You’re laughing at me right now. That’s fine. Genius is often scoffed at when it arrives in the form of odd choices and foreign advice. But I want you to think
hard
(snicker) about this idea for just a split second. Put yourself in the relaxation that accompanies a massive orgasm. Now imagine that feeling sticking with you all the while as you traverse the airport toward your gate. That knowing smile plastered on your face would let all those around you know everything was going to be okay. Take your time fishing your computer out of your satchel! Please, go ahead—I don’t mind! No, no … after you! My turn to get on the plane? It’s all good—we’re all going to the same place! We’re all family here! God, how good was
your
blowjob, mate? I know! Your wife got a vigorous rubbing as well? Brilliant! The
vibrations
(snicker) given off by that sort of stress reliever would cascade over everyone like a blanket, smoke, and a pancake. You know those little kiosks where they offer to shine your shoes or give you a massage? Fuck foot rubs—unless we’re talking about a toe job. Then it would be a foot fuck rub.
    Traveling shouldn’t be this stressful. Fucking hell—
nothing
should be this stressful, not even a rectal exam or a body-cavity search. I blame the stupidity rampant in our civilization. You see, I believe that in order to be truly stupid, you have to have the smarts there to begin with. This intensifies the feeling when you’ve done something so daft, people stare at you with open disdain. Here lies the separation of stupidity and incompetence.If you’re stupid, you just didn’t understand what happened and then make adjustments. If you’re incompetent, you never bothered to learn in the first place. So the incompetent man keeps doing dumb shit even after he’s cautioned not to. A stupid man can learn. An incompetent man cannot. So by that rationale, stupid people traveling abroad can be taught to figure it out. But why aren’t you? You’re not all incompetent; you managed to dress yourself in clothes that weren’t covered in sick and boogies. What’s the fucking deal, people?
    I believe the glamour of flight has something to do with it. You see, years ago it was a luxury to fly on an airplane. People, dressed to the nines in their spats, suits, and fedoras, boarded a flight and were treated to the cutting edge of prestige. Now, with more equipment available and competitive pricing (kind of) it’s more accessible to the general public to hop a puddle jumper and head off into the sunset. This, however, means that everyone can get in the act, and I do mean
everyone
. Shit cakes dressed like off-duty strippers