The title of this blog comes from a Gaelic expression -"putting on the poor mouth"-which means to exaggerate the direness of one's situation in order to gain time or favour from creditors.
Well, it scared me!
Ah yes, it is very scary when you know the pilot has hit the dead centre of the midpoint of the two blazing worm holes to get you back across to your own side of the universe again, but you clearly made it, and I expect you enjoyed the ride.
I filled my pants H!
Not quite the poetic comment the transit event deserves Jams, but I can understand. I always stick to alcoholic fluids only for the three days beforehand.
I was being prosaic! After the alcohol do you piss yourself though!
Ah... up front in ClubClass the nice alien ladies with the big almond shaped eyes fix you up with a catheter and a Lagavulin and Ibuprofen cocktail intravenous drip (it's the whisky that brings them to Earth after all). Sounds to me like you were slumming it back in Economy.
Bastards! They really bilked me on my ticket! I'm flying Air Zeta Reticuli next time. They offer free induction into the parsec high club!
Beware Jams. They don't tell you who (or rather what) will be partnering you in that induction. It may come as an unpleasant surprise. It did to me. Eight legs may sound a better deal than two, but the reality is different. You'll realise too late why it is free, to you. They charge the slippery octoplogulons a fortune. Sounds like you never bother with the small print eh?
Oh God they are the ones with the eight monster reproductive stalks? I dodged a bullet there. Thanks H!
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