Have you seen the Corona flight commercial where the flight attendant asks the Ambien faced-twenty something-dressed for happy hour passenger “Are we doing ok here? “
And, with corona in hand, through a buzz hazed stare answers “Absolutely.”
How about a little truth in advertising Corona?
“Are we doing ok here?”
“Mindy, I’m in coach. If my knees were any closer to my face I would auto fellate. You can bring me as many of these $7 cervezas as you want but it won’t change the fact that I won’t feel my shins till I arrive in Akron for the rubber tire convention. Sure, I’m drunk but my nose still works and this “salesman” next to me reeks of cheap, burrito-infused vodka with just a hint of Atlanta Georgia prostitute. And unless I want to fork over $20 to you and your emergency floor lighting cronies I’ll have to subsist on this massive bag of peanuts for the next 3 hours, assuming we get off this tarmac in the next 2 hours. By the way, I have to urinate but because you and Blaine are busy bartending I have to hold it until the turbulence kicks in and works on my bladder like a paint shaker. Then I can bounce off the chairs till I arrive at my final destination at the front of the plane in front of the 1st classers asleep on their recliners; at which point I’ll take a huge beer-peanut infested dump and leave the door open so it can waft up their 1st class noses. So don’t ask me if we are doing ok here because unless “we” join the mile high club I just want to pass out IF you don’t mind. Buh-bye.”