So this flight attendant tells me her story. She's working a flight to Las Vegas...
Hold up. First thing I wonder when I work Vegas is how many jack and cokes I'll sell and how many rose boobie tattoos I might see. The count is UP THERE. Las Vegas is a magical route. It's an escape from working on an airplane actually...it's like I'm working on a city bus packed with a collective Maury Povich audience. It's a riot. Shit always happens.
So back to the story, the flight attendant says bimbo in 23D rings her call button. She wearily approaches wondering if she's maybe popped an implant when fat-tard in front of her reclined his seat...or does she want another double vodka cran? Jack and coke (diet of course)?
It's now an eye-mask.