flight to neverland
Time Thief: Beaaaaatrix, can you call United?
Beatrix Kiddo: Sure, what for?
TT: I don’t like the seats they assigned. Change them per the usual and make sure they know that we are traveling with the baby
BK: (I pressume so that they can assign a stewardess to fetch clean diapers…idiot) Right, there’s a slight problem with the seating
TT: I have a bunch of miles with them…
*Side Note: This jackass believes that the accumulation of 50,000 frequent flyer miles affords him cult status at the airline. “Yes, I’m calling to make a reservation for Mr. Time Thief.” “THE Mr. Time Thief?! Well I’ll make sure we bring the golden ottoman and silk cushions on board.” La di da your majesty. Imbecile.
BK: It’s not about the miles but about the baby and your preferred seating arrangement (touché motherfucker)
TT: I don’t see why I can’t seat in the exit row
BK: Errrr because you’ll have an infant in your arms (…and seven bags of diapers and miscellaneous shit around you blocking the aforementioned exit which if we get right down to the nitty gritty it will most likely be the only escape medium for the anxious hordes in case of an accident)
TT: Well then leave the Mrs. with the baby in the back of the plane and I’ll take the exit row. They can come visit me
If God exists, she would re-route this flight to Jupiter. Then I would come in Monday morning and hear the news and spend all day watching re-runs of Desperate Housewives, not before I ordered a really nice flower arrangement for the mock funerals of course. On Time Thief’s corporate credit card, of course, of course.