|You squirelly bastards! How many half-assed poured, free drinks this time? 5?|
Not a single, f-ing drink ticket given. The goddamn, puddle-jumping assholes at Southwest decided that a thoughtful birthday card signed by 31 of their employees (yes I fucking counted) would suffice. Oh, but then I read the fine print...
|Thanks Vijaya (If i ever meet you I will call you Vagina), Dwayne, and Stacy, etc. for the "gift". |
Are you shitting me???
Apparently, the card doubled as a receptacle for my bombass birthday photo located in some exotic location. Kudos guys, you rock! Wait...there is a back to the card that requests I add my 3.5" x 5" photo to it, and then if I choose to do so hashtag it to Twitter. You stingy turds couldn't even bust for the 4"x 6"?
|@SouthwestAir #RRbday #goingonthemantel #wherearemydrinkticketsandluggage?|
Thus sums up the first birthday card of my impending doom.
Up, up, and away,
Katie E. Eshelman