Thursday, 13 September 2012

How Transat Air Killed my Cat






Dear Transat Air,

Last month I was a passenger of one of your flights, and the experience you have granted me has not only scarred me for life, it was indirectly the cause of the demise of my poor little kitten, Mittens.

Here is what happened.

About a year ago, a Canadian Playboy-Model Billionaire Philanthropist ordered me from a Dutch Groom magazine to become her lawful husband and on August 28th 2012, she took me on a dreamy vacation through Europe.
The start of our trip would be in Italy, assuming that this would be an appropriate location to be all romantic and cute (but mostly, to flaunt our incredibly hot bodies).
Unfortunately, we have not mastered the skill of self-propelled human flight (yet) so we were somewhat reliant on an airline company called Transat Air to get us to our destination.

The horror of this flight began as soon as we lined up with 200 rowdy guitar wielding teenage hippies in order to check in for our flight. However, we repelled their hipster cynicism by being incredibly in love and sexy. As we finally made it to the check-in desk, we were met by the bastard child of Shrek and Gollum, who seemed to be completely unaffected by our radiant loveliness and sneeringly placed us in this shitty Transat plane, divided by a WHOLE aisle.

As our love has conquered distance before, we decided that we could easily deal with this set-back, and decided to valiantly sit apart for the next 8 hours. Of course, we would keep our minds occupied with a no doubt astonishing selection of beverages and inflight entertainment.
Little did we know, that the only complimentary drink on board was a shitty glass of apple juice, which was clearly intended to wash away the detrimental “main course” on board.
To add insult to injury, we were expected to PAY for our headphones and blanket, or choose to suffer the icy cold air that was blasting from the airco system.

The anarchists that we are, we refused to bow down to “The Man” and defiantly plugged in our OWN headsets in order to watch the sub-par selection of inflight entertainment, expecting to fall sound asleep until we would arrive on our destination.
"I will Murder you"
We were wrong.

I (6’6 man of awesome) had the pleasure to be seated behind a 4 foot child who seemed to lack any form of social values. As soon as the “Fasten Seatbelt” light turned off, he threw back his seat with MACH 3 right into my kneecaps. Now, despite the injury I immediately sustained, I was fortunate that the little bastards seat did not “lock” in position. So by jamming my knees tightly into the seat in front of me, he was unable to keep his seat in the “I don’t give a single fuck about anyone else in this plane” position.
He assumed that his chair was somehow broken, so he tried 3-4 more times, slamming his seat into the front on my defiant knees each time. I enjoyed the sense of justified glee so much, that I gladly traded it for the ever enduring pain in my legs every time that asshole dropped his seat on me, just to give it another try.
After a while he gave up and I mentally highfived myself.
However, a few minutes later, the brat tried again and caught me offguard. As he smashed his seat into my tender knees, I heard the chair lock into position and I knew he had won.
As my blood boiled, I witnessed my hands twirl the cord of my headset as if I had no control over them.
The mental image of whipping that cord over the chair in front of me and choking that little fucker out, was oddly satisfying.

Oh how sweet would it have been
Luckily for me, “dinner” was soon after served, FORCING the kid to put his chair upright again.
As soon as he did, I vowed to block this asshole for the rest of the flight no matter what the cost.
Alas, it seemed the kid was on to me.
As soon as he devoured his meal, he immediately slammed back his seat back.
I did not see this act of pure evil coming as I got clipped by my tray of food spilling my precious apple juice into my brownish goo called “beef”.



Despite being 12 years old, this kid was about to suffer my wrath.
After ignoring my subtle punch in the back of his headrest, I calmly tapped him on the shoulder to inform him of the awkward position I was currently in. Other passengers however, might have described this event as me smacking the kid in the back of the head asking him what the fuck he was doing.

Like a frightened rabbit, he put his chair back into a decent human being-position enabling me to barely survive the rest of the flight.
Luckily for me, you guys saved the BEST part of my experience with you for the way BACK!
Although we had 2 weeks to recuperate from this horrible horrible experience, we would soon be exposed again to your customer orientated service on the flight back.
Apparently, you seem to put completely random boarding times and gates on your tickets, so you can imagine our surprise as we arrived at our gate 90 minutes early, that we found ourselves boarding for a flight to Cairo instead.

After the ACTUAL boarding process, we found our seats next to a 1 year old toddler and a non-English speaking woman. No problem, because we were planning to once again enjoy your inflight entertainment system.

Which wasn’t there.

I guess you didn’t bother to equip your transatlantic flights with a personal entertainment system, but instead just taped a few old tube televisions to the ceiling playing an old shitty VHS version of Ms.Doubtfire.
Of course, we were supposed to pay again for a headset and blanket to protect us from the insanely cold air that was being blasted into our face again (Great selling technique).
Shortly after take-off, the guy in front of the mother with the toddler, immediately slammed his seat back into the kids face, showing no regards for the poor woman who now had no room to do anything at all.
I assumed he was related to shitty-recliner kid and I started hating the guy with my whole heart.
I should have probably left some room for additional hate, because after 5 minutes, the douchebag had the nerve to complain to one of your staff, that the toddler (folded up between the back of Douchy mc Douchebag’s chair and her mother) kept kicking his seat.
My face when....
Instead of telling the guy to get a heart and be a human being, the stewardess actually went and told the woman to keep her kid in check.
Struggling with this near impossible task, it didn’t take long before that heartless asshole turned to me and asked me if that child was my son.
He was VERY lucky, I have a limit of only punching 1 other passenger per holiday or I would have GLADLY decompressed his FACE!

Humanitarians that we are, we changed seats with the poor woman, so she could sit behind a little old lady, gave her our overpriced blanket and took out our books.
However, the light wasn’t working…

At this point I just faded away into a fantasy of strangling the guy in front of me with the kid from the previous trip, but that could have been because of the Free Vodka the stewardess gave us for being so incredibly awesome. (So, props to your inflight personnel).

As soon as we made it back, I sat down in my comfortable chain at home trying to relax from this trip.
My cute little cat, who clearly missed me jumped into my lap for some cuddles.
However, I mistook that for another episode of Asshole-Recliners, flexed my legs, launching Mittens into my Industrial Grade Ceiling fan, turning her in Kitten Carpaccio.

Poor (Delicious) Mittens...


Now, if you would have a better policy on asshole passengers, I would not have had this Post-Traumatic Reflex and my Mittens would still be alive!








As you can imagine, I am not amused.

-         -  Dave Stevens












Monday, 30 April 2012

How eating at Pizza Hut Killed my Mittens



Dear Pizza Hut PR lady,
Two weeks ago, I was supposed to have an uplifting victory mean in your establishment in Cornwall.
After three months of pure misery in my personal life, I wanted Pizzahut to take part in the celebrations of a major life event. Unfortunately, what was supposed to be a night of pleasantries, ended up in the untimely death of my poor little kitten, Mittens.
Here is what happened…




About three years ago, I swam to Canada in order to establish a life here as an extremely hard working foreign laborer. Since day one I had been breaking my back doing all kinds of work, which the average Canadian was not up for. (I am talking: Alligator Dentist, Human Centipede (middle), and Midnight Vigilante etc.) Now I am not complaining, since Canada has been more than good to me. However, the moment I arrested the last criminal alive, Immigration Services decided they no longer needed superheroes and deported me without a second thought.
Fortunately for me, the moment they put me on a boat, crime rates spiked back up and the Canadian Government BEGGED me to come back. It took them about three months of begging before I finally caved in and made my return to Canada. This happened in Cornwall, ON, and that is where your establishment comes into play.

The ManBearPig
I walked into the restaurant with this supermodel I picked up at Border Services and was escorted by a really nice waitress to our table. Now, I doubt she had ANY ill intend when she placed us in a booth between two tables that already had other guests. For her, this would make serving us a lot more convenient and I truly appreciate such cleverness in employees. However, what she clearly missed was that the two tables were filled with a Manbearpig and an Overweight Banshee that smelled like moldy cheese. As soon as we sat down, Manbearpig and Overweight Banshee started shrieking at each other, which appeared to be some sort of communication ritual. The conversation went pretty much as following:

MBP: “Shreeeeeeee”
MBP: “Hissshhh CA-CAW”
OvB: “Snort” (shaking her head)
Now it took a while before I was able to understand their language, but for your convenience I’ll translate it to English.

Right after we placed our order with the competent and friendly waitress, we were treated to this gem from Manbearpig:
“One time, I cut my thumb so deep; I was bleeding all over myself. I left a trail from the kitchen to the bathroom”

Now, although this is already not the best dinner conversation, she blasted this line at 160 dB across the restaurant. My beautiful supermodel immediately gave me the stare of death as the words engraved themselves forever in her no doubt perfectly shaped brain. We gave it our best shot and tried to ignore the complete violation of at least 5 books that have been written on social etiquette, however, I couldn’t help myself and had to retreat to the washroom to vomit the mental image away.

I really wish I didn’t, because as it turned out shortly after, I needed the content of my stomach later on, since the previous comment was just a warm-up for the rest of the extremely loud and highly inappropriate conversation. As I returned, something must have been said, because my supermodel had a look on her face that can only be described as pure horror and disgust. Luckily for us, the nice and competent waitress had just brought us some delicious bread sticks with pasta sauce.
Unfortunately the sauce matched the conversation that now boomed across the restaurant.

OvB: “Oh, I can tell by my cramps that I will be having a heavy flow, but that won’t stop this stallion”
Have fun, you cannot unsee this picture ever.

With those 21 words, my supermodel date shriveled away into a little old lady with Alzheimer’s and spend the rest of the evening rocking back and forth and I couldn’t chomp away those delicious breadsticks fast enough in the hopes my stomach would turn it into barf for another round of mental cleansing.

Did you know the straws you serve at your restaurants are not rigid enough to pierce a human eardrum?
I do…





The only reason we did not leave at this point is because we already put in our order and we didn’t want to waste good pizza because, you know, Africa and stuff. So, we soldiered on and I had to use all my knowledge of Jedi-Mind blocking to make it to the entree.

Now, I am a BIG fan of pizza (no seriously, I’m a huge man) and I was CONVINCED that whatever these two demi-humans would blurt out in front of their OWN kids, couldn’t ruin my appetite for delicious pizza.
But, once again, their little crocodile brains managed to wiggle something in between me and my Meat Lovers Goodness.

MBP: “We don’t bother with hormones anymore, I just keep my legs in the air for a while so it can really seep in”

 My little Alzheimer lady immediately burst into a weird green flame and even the pepperoni on my Pizza reformed itself into a sad smiley face that could only mean “Dude..what the fuck?”
As I coping mechanism I drifted off in a very lucid day dream about ManbearPig and Overweigh Banshee strolling to a park, where they suddenly get torn apart by a group of hungry velociraptors who don’t even want to eat them.
"Yeah...i'm not gonna eat that"

This blissful moment doesn’t last long as I get brutally yanked back into reality by Overweight Banshee’s rebuttal.
OvB: “When we didn’t want to get pregnant, we just did it in the other hole, you know, the OTHER hole…the OTHER OTHER white meat?”
The little pile of ash that was once my supermodel date immediately reformed into her former self, just for the opportunity to explode into a pink cloud of embarrassment and I had to physically fight back a wave of disgust by stuffing napkins into my esophagus.

No amount of Purell would disinfect our brains after this and no amount of deliciousness would bring back our appetites for the next few days. We paid the waitress and tipped her for the good service, but still left your fine establishment in disgust.  We drove home slightly queasy and even the comforting thought that we were putting decent mileage in between ourselves and Manbearpig & Overweight Banshee could settle our stomachs.
We got home, hands still shaking, and sat down at our kitchen table planning to drown out our mental trauma with some hard liquor.

In my state of confusion I accidentally repeated the “other hole” phrase out loud, without knowing that cute little Mittens was prancing around at my feet.
Mittens, before her little head exploded
Being a kitten without any defenses against such words, she froze…started to shake and convulse and finally her cute little head exploded, leaving once innocent bits of cat brain all over my stainless steel appliances.
If Pizzahut would have stepped in and removed these vile persons from your otherwise fine establishment, I would not have been scarred for life, and my cute little kitten’s head would not have exploded.





As you can imagine, I am not amused.
-          Dave Stevens