Beer and Sonja's Christmas Vacation

Sometimes vacations go just like you hope they will: you get pissed and destroy some destination that hopes you never return unless you bring even more of your hard earned money to get pissed and destroy it again.

Other times vacations go about as well as the war in Afghanistan. Your plane crashes; your car explodes; your hotel has no record of your reservation; and you get thrown in jail the first night you try and get pissed and destroy something.

Sonja and I just had a vacation that was a little of both. It was both fun and painful - like the day the hooded loons hung Saddam Hussein. "The main thing," Sonja told me as we drove from the airport home, "was at least the motherfuckers let you out of jail in time to catch our flight home this time."

We were both relieved to sit down in our seats for a flight home we did not think we would take together until the last thing to go wrong with our vacation staggered down the aisle with both fresh and stale vomit dripping down his fucking Hawaii shirt where it pooled on the crest of his enormous belly. Vomit Man fell into the seat beside Sonja, who rolled her eyes just about as high in her head as her seat mate rolled his, as he immediately started snoring, shaking uncontrollably and dribbling beside her.

"Jesus Fuck," I thought, "what the fuck else can possibly go wrong?"

Sonja got up right away and started looking for a stewardess to kick the fat puking cunt off the plane. The stewardesses were busy trying to get the rest of our puking flight-mates, several of whom were already in need of oxygen, into their seats so we could get back to our country in time to watch Hockey Night In Canada.

There being no stewardess available, Sonja politely asked Vomit Man's wife, who was seated behind us, if she would exchange seats with her. The lady wisely refused and I heard Vomit Man blurt out something about, "You fuck bitch sit down," between the pieces of his last meal still foaming from his sun-cracked lips. Now Vomit Man had pissed off both Sonja and I. It looked like I would soon be back in jail.

As I was about to lose control Sonja told Vomit Man's wife she would have, "That puke of a husband of yours thrown off the plane," if she did not exchange seats with her. Vomit Man's wife realised she would probably get beaten by her husband, when he finally did make it back to Canada, so she reluctantly agreed to the exchange.

The whole way home Vomit Man twitched, puked, fell into the aisle, blurbled, shat himself (repeatedly) and inspired several other perfectly well people to fill their barf bags as well. It was like a Canucks game back in the '70s.

The guy's wife turned out to be perfectly nice. She was a retired nurse. The perfect wife for a man who liked to shit himself on planes. Halfway through the flight she confided in me that "My husband has been on a six day tequila and peyote binge. I couldn't get him down from his fucking perch long enough for him to straighten out for the flight home."