Looking for an easy job?

Do you like planes? And skirts? Or, if you are a man, do you like gayness? If so, take a look at Spirit Airlines.

On Spirit Airlines, you aren't raped brutally up-front. Instead, you are fucked to death by 1,000 tiny Indian penises. Part of this nickel and diming policy includes charges for in-flight snacks, which Spirit is gracious enough to provide for you at a 400% markup. But, I guess, you'd think a decent number of people would pay the $3 for a coke to soothe that parched throat that they developed during the hour and a half takeoff delay. But no, they are a cashless cabin.


"Did you say cashless cabin?" Yes, Pac-Man, cashless. Look, the plane was just delayed for two hours by rain, we don't need anymore rain inside. So you'll have to fly AirTran. Mike Vick's spot is probably open.

Anyway, if you figure that no one is going to debit some apple juice on a plane, then you, my friend, are God damn right. Unless I can type my pin number into the flight attendant's tits, but as of now this practice has not yet been enabled. So, after showing a bunch of sleeping morons how to put on oxygen masks, they kind of just sit there. Doing nothing. Flying about the country, which might seem awesome, until you remember that some of Spirit's main destinations are places like Myrtle Beach.

Speaking of oxygen masks, how come flight attendants don't survive the crashes? You don't hear any stories about Airbuses going down in the Atlantic, killing all on board except the flight attendants, who knew how to put on their life jackets correctly. Given this information, I'm just going to sit there and turn on my MP3 player, which contains over 200 songs that I can't even hear because the last flight fucked up my ears.