Soaring Ambitions

In response to recently voiced fears that DonkeyBlog has been taking itself a bit too seriously of late, I wish to assure everyone that I am still the immature, shallow barnyard prankster of old. And to set your minds at ease, I must ask you all the question;

Do you know anyone who’s a member of the Mile High Club?

I know a guy who claims to be; reckons he did it with his girlfriend-at-the-time, under a blanket, in their seats! Not sure I believe it, though, as the friend in question is not the most quietly-spoken person at the best of times, let alone when he’s a bit excited … and this friend, well, let’s just say that the thought of sex gets him VERY excited. Adding to my doubt about his claimed credentials, unless my friend was travelling Business Class (and knowing him to be the almighty tight-arse that he is, I think that unlikely), I’m not sure two people’d really fit under that little airline blanket. Donkey usually has trouble fitting one across the ol’ guts, which, I’ll admit, are not insubstantial, but c’mon, two people having inconspicuous sex at 30,000 feet!?!

Still, this friend of mine is pretty adamant that he has the Mile High Club ID card and avails himself of membership privileges on a regular basis, so I guess it must be true. And here’s me having complained to the airline after one of my recent trips just because my seat wouldn’t go back! In retrospect, despite the unpleasant lower back pain experienced on that journey, I firmly believe it to be far more preferable than what that poor bugger had to endure all those years ago, as he sat in the third seat of that row, next to my friend and his girlfriend. Imagine having to pretend not to hear the maniacal “Hur hur hur!” of my friend as he completed his membership initiation rituals! Imagine having to pretend not to notice that flimsy little airline blanket as it bounced up and down, and then slipped off onto the floor (I’m sure it must have been this passenger who kept picking it up in order to perform his civic duty in sparing all the other passengers the spectacle!). No, I’ll not complain about bad seats on a plane, ever again!

It’s a strange ambition, this Mile High Club. Never really turned me on much – call me old fashioned, but having sex in a filthy cubicle while standing in a puddle of stale, post-turbulence urine while twenty passengers wait patiently for the lavvy on the other side of a light plastic door doesn’t quite do it for me.

But having said that, I do possess the odd, somewhat sordid, high altitude ambition, and mine too, I’ll admit, has something to do with the airplane loos. You know how on airplanes, the bogs have that sealed s-bend, and you have to hit the button before all your business gets sucked out, and you know how you have to hang on tight to avoid being sucked out yourself and landing on some poor villager who has just started dancing with joy at the first rain in ten years? You know those toilets, right? Yeah, well, I have an ambition to actually fill one of those toilet bowls up completely with my own piss! That’s right – fill it right up to the rim, then press the button and watch it all slosh out into the stratosphere!

I know you might be wondering why I might want to do that, but I’m sorry to say that for contractual reasons, the “why” is not going to be addressed here. Nevertheless, it’s the “how” that occupies my thoughts most keenly, and to be honest, it’s not an easy task at all!

I’ve tried all sorts of things, but am sorry to report that the sick bags do not hold fluid for very long before seepage occurs. The most effective method of achieving my goal, I’ve found, is to down three large, Starfucks-style paper cups of “coffee”, two beers and a couple of Cokes at the airport bar before boarding, and then to alternate between beer and coffee once on board. As a tip for young players, I recommend asking for a second drink whenever being served your first, as those small cans really aren’t helping anyone.

While maintaining this volume of fluid in-take, the challenge then is to sit as still as you can for the next eight hours or so – it’s not easy; the pain will usually start about two hours in. Meditation’s no good, ‘cause you still have to drink, drink, drink, so it’s all about gritting your teeth, breathing through your nose and praying for a smooth ride.

Unfortunately, to date, these precautions have been insufficient. Despite the super-human effort of lasting the time, my endeavours to fill the vessel have not even come close. It appears my bladder is just not large enough to match the volume of the bowl … but I won’t let that small obstacle prevent me from assuming my rightful place as the inaugural member, and self-appointed Grand High Wizard of the Mile High Bowl Fillers’ Society Inc. No Siree! I have been doing my research and it appears that the medical profession is making tremendous breakthroughs in bladder transplant surgery, so there may be help for me yet. Until then, if you’re travelling and you find yourself sitting next to a rather agitated, shallow-breathing Donkey, don’t be alarmed, just be ready to get out of his way if he starts to move … or groan!


But wait, there’s more…

Far be it for me to get all Rodney Dangerfield on you, but “how ‘bout those airlines?”. Here are some recent observations of stuff I just don’t get.

Flying’s great for your lungs, isn’t it? Yeah, fantastic! Ever noticed how you and everyone you’ve ever met gets the sniffles after any flight lasting longer than 90 minutes? Here’s a question for you, if someone on your plane has TB, who do you think is most likely to get it? Yeah, that’s right, everyone!

Still, on a British Airways leg from Delhi – London, recently, it was a toss-up as to whether I was gonna go down to severe respiratory illness or malnutrition. When did airlines drop down to one lousy meal on a nine-and-a-half hour flight?

At least Air Sahara make you feel as though you’re getting two meals, even though they’re tiny! Apparently those thimble-sized coffee cups are a safety precaution to prevent anyone from sustaining massive burns in the event of turbulence, but as a not-so-well-endowed Donkey, even that small amount of boiling coffee could severely damage the likelihood of a future barnyard brood. I’ll take my chances, though; “Gimme a mug, ya tight bastards, and let’s get on with it!”.

Flying’s great for your skin, too, hey? Especially for someone like me. So much for what they all told us during adolescence, y’know, about how your acne would disappear by the time you were fifteen. Yeah right! I’ve got bacteria on my face that’s so old it could be used to make the very smoothest vintage tasty known to man … and the cross-pollenation at the hands of the airplane cooling system could do wonders for the epicurean industry!

Honestly, having your plane go down in mid flight is the least of your health problems, if you ask me. Fowl, biblical skin disorders; deadly respiratory illness; third degree coffee burns; sexually transmitted diseases; and hepatitis from some freak who tried, in vain, to reach the lavvy, but ended up exploding urine all over the cabin. It’s no wonder air hosties get paid serious danger money!




Evangeline Lilly didn't seem to suffer from bloody phlegm, skin pustules or even coffee burns, and let's face it, after 60 days on the island, she still looks pretty good. Pic: imageunivers.canalblog.com/