When I read that Southwest Airlines was allowing horses on their planes as support animals, I was like “Hell yeah! Vegas, here I come!” But when I showed up with my Emotional Support Wife in tow and they were like “Where’s her ticket?” I was like “You gotta be kidding.”
Look, I don’t give a shit if you’re afraid to fly. I’m afraid to fly too. All the Budweiser in the world ain’t gonna give me sac enough to sit calmly in a hurtling death tube that sucks in air and farts out clouds at 35,000 feet all thanks to hundreds of gallons of combustible liquid yards away from my ass. I don’t know if I’m gonna land calmly at McCarran or screaming my head off slamming into the side of a mountain. Planes are scary. That’s why they serve alcohol.
I got shit that makes me worry too. What if I die?
Who’s gonna handle the bills? Who’s gonna teach my son to throw a ball? What happens if the water heater goes out? What if I die before I get a chance to clear my Google search history and my daughter finds it first? I don’t want her to remember me like that. She used to sit on my lap.
I get it. I get why we need to bring our animals on the plane. I just don’t get why this crazy bitch gets to bring her goddam horse on the plane for free, but my rock, my security blanket, my service animal – Rebecca – has to pay for a fucking ticket?
She’s got a pink vest. Just like that stupid horse. I even wrote “Do Not Touch” on it so people know the vest is legit.
I bring my Service Wife everywhere else that other service animals go and nobody bats an eye. Nobody says “no wives allowed, sir.” That would be discrimination. Discrimination against me and my mental incapacities. But for some reason these airlines think it’s like, goddam 1998 or something when it comes to Service Wives. You know, back in those intolerant days of airline travel where if you tried to bring a dog, or a horse, or a pig on a plane, you’d be laughed right out of the fucking airport lobby.
It used to be that if you wanted to bring a dog on the plane, you’d have to stow her in the cargo hold. Now they get to sit on your lap and bark at the squeaky wheel on the service cart. My wife can be just as annoying as that dog. She’ll even shit in the aisle if you pay her twenty bucks. She’s a hell of a gal. Your stupid dog rides for free. But my beautiful wife costs money like she’s some goddam piece of checked baggage or some shit.
I wanna fly. I really do. You can’t take those Sunset Station Casino player points with you! But I get nervous when I’m on a plane alone. And when I get nervous I breath real heavy-like. And then I clutch the armrests. Sometimes, I even close my eyes. That’s why it’s nice to have Becky there to calm me down and say “Here honey, have another drink.” If I didn’t have her there to lick my face when I’m scared, I might… be real scared. And that’s not something I should have to deal with for three to four hours of my life. I pay my taxes! Fear is not an option! I need comfort 100% of the time.
That’s why, I don’t think anything is wrong with having an emotional support dog, or horse, or turkey, or python. Whatever gets you through the hell that is sitting there, watching a movie, eating pretzels, on a plane. I just think it’s fucked up that when it comes to my emotional well being, I gotta pay a premium. I thought we were better than that.
These airlines are the true animals.
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