Adventures with a fat as FUCK flight attendant and his cow-orker A couple weeks ago I posted an album which had the picture of a fat flight attendant. Comments were made about how there must be weight limits for such employment. This morning, I have learned first hand that there are none; at least not North Of The Wall. I was flying home from Africa and was on the final and longest leg of my trip. I was exhausted and the flight was delayed, which meant I had time to consume a couple extra 50 cl. airport lagers. Now, I work in developing countries and fly a lot -- in economy class. My preference is to have a row to myself, and I've learned that the best chance for this to happen is to sit in the back of the plane. I make sure to set my alarm 24 hours ahead of takeoff to check-in and get my seat. We finally boarded and I got to the back. This fat-titted gaping chasm of faeces of an attendant told me that the row was reserved for the crew, because the flight wasn't fully booked, and I could sit in the middle section. I did NOT accept this, as a) I had a reserved seat (the airline often blocks these rows off in their reservation system), b) I like to have a window seat and c) I am a bloody CLIENT. Rather than maintain his composure (as attendants are remarkably good at. I could never do their job), this porker goes into full-on bitch mode. "Oh, so you're MORE IMPORTANT THAN US", etc. YES I'M FUCKING MORE IMPORTANT. I have to sit there for eight long hours with only a lovely selection of retarded sitcoms to watch whereas your lumpy defecator will be in the seat for a TOTAL of 20 minutes over the course of the entire flight. Anyway, I got a row to myself further up. Now, I've never had a truly fat flight attendant before, but this got even better. Frito-Breath was partnered up with a fucking squat little SPHERE. I am not lying in the slightest in averring that this chick was beyond anything I'd previously seen. We usually have grumpy, frumpy, fiftysomething unionised menopausals serving on Air Canada, but this custard-sack* was simply repugnant. Best part: they both were gruff with me, so I have to assume bitch-tits cried tears of lard to his hag**, telling her how I almost stole their rightful ass-harnesses. Anyhoo, I need sleep. *Apologies for the quality of the image. Didn't get to take one of the second Hutt. **I want to make clear that I've nothing against hot man-on-man action, nor its practitioners. The flaming bitchiness it displayed was however a part of the story. I'm not implying all proctological pounders are feminine in their mannerisms. At all.