The Black Fox, and why you shouldn’t have to pay to poop in a plane


Anyway, I hears that Ryanair wants to charge me a pound every time I go to the crapper.

Mh.. hrm.  So, speaking as somebody who pooped themselves in public as an adult – it’s a funny story, but I won’t tell it here – I have to say that if I did my drawers to make a political statement, and everybody around me sued Ryanair because all of a sudden they couldn’t eat their packets of crisps for the eyewatering stench, where would the profit be then?  Charging people a pound to poop in the correct place on an airplane is one of the most irritatingly stupid things I’ve ever heard.  The first time some guy pulls out his schlong and fills a paper cup with pee as an economizing gesture, that’s gonna fly real well too, even if I later ask him for his business card.  What the hell is wrong with these people at Ryanair?  Have they not heard that the Grim Reaper has a little sister, and her name is Unintended Consequences?  IT’S A SAFETY ISSUE.  You don’t want tampons, crap and urine in the cabin of an airplane if you can possibly help it, and there are a LOTS of good reasons why.  It’s common courtesy, and common sense, and they don’t want to go to the place where they will end up.  Really.

Relief at last

I lost my bank card about three weeks ago but only called the bank to replace it a week ago, and it turned up yesterday.  Without a bank card I couldn’t pay bills on line which was bad, or spend much money, which was good.  I think I will start leaving it at home unless I have a planned cash expenditure that day.  I run a tab at the cafeteria at work and only pay it off twice a month.

I light a candle for Zari at work; her mum died back in Iran and she couldn’t go to the funeral, and she’s been feeling really blue ever since.  Then she said something that made me really sad; she said that even with everything that is so bad about back home, she’d be retired by now if she lived in Iran.  I will be working until I am sixty-five, so I know how she feels…

After sober consideration, Jeff responded to the twit next door who told him in a note on his windshield to quit parking in his space.  There is no assigned parking on this street.  To think I cut a hole in the snowbank so the neighbour could have access to his car, during the last snowstorm!  To think he has SIX PLACES TO PARK, two in his garage, two in his paved over yard, and two in front of his house!  Anyway, Jeff’s letter was a masterpiece; too bad it won’t help do anything except vent Jeff’s spleen.

I forgot to mention that when I left Mike’s place on Monday night a skunk greeted me.  I walked out into the road and said what I always say when I get too close to a critter; “Evening, brother skunk,” as I have heard that if you project civility animals are less likely to attack you.  Skunks sure have an odd gait.

Every night at 5:45, about three to four thousand crows gather around the Keg on Willingdon.  The sky is sometimes black with them.  I am going to try to get pictures tonight.

I hope everybody has a simply splendid day, and a nice weekend.