Emo pets managed to upstage my long list of 2014’s “best” excuses…

Okay, had I been aboard the plane onto which a woman carried her 60-pound emotional support shit ‘n piss machine, the conversation would’ve likely gone something like this:

Me: Seriously? In coach?? This is a first class move. Since when do poors get to pull off such entitlement?

Pig Lady: Oh, but this is my friend. He’s an emotional support pet. I have a prescription and a letter from my doctor. 

Me: I see. Must be a prescription for combatting powerlessness with selfishness. What’s the letter say, dare I ask?

Pig Lady: How dare you! This is a psychiatric service animal! He’s critical to my mental health and/or treatment. 

Me: “And/or treatment”…You’re hilarious! I’ve got ten bucks that says before this oversold, flying gas can touches down, you’ll get spit on by one of these nice passengers.

Pig Lady: You’re disgusting.

Me: Conniving baloney. Treatment of what, by the way, therapeutic reduction in personal resilience?

Pig Lady: You judgmental, narrow-minded ass! 

Me: DUDE! You brought a squealing, urinating pig onto a flight where passengers are already treated like farm animals. Plus, that guy there is Muslim, so you’re definitely freaking him out. What if I kept kosher, or the lady in front of us was allergic? Try to think outside of your own headspace for a minute.

Pig Lady: Excuse me! I have documentation from a mental health professional stating that I require my pet to accompany me – 

Me: Sell it someplace else, Charlie. Sounds to me like you live behind a fantasy excuse for staying curled up in a little ball in the face of life’s challenges. I’m telling you, if this plane nosedives, I’m using you as a battering ram to get to the emergency exit.

Pig Lady: Oh my God! You’re threatening me!? I’m telling the flight attendant. Excuse me, miss? This man just said –

Me: I think you have pig poop on your shoes. 

Pig Lady: I do NOT! And who the hell are you to tell me my mental wellness is an excuse for – 

Me: In New Guinea they’d eat you and your incontinent buddy there. 

Pig Lady: I can’t believe this! Air Marshal! Air Marshal!

Me: (singsong): La-La-La-La, I’m not listening. One, two, Buckle my shoe; Three, four, Knock at the door…La-La-La…

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