I wrote this last week while stranded in an airport. I’m sharing it with you as part of my healing process…
I hope this note finds you well, you deplorable bunch of orange shitheads.
As I write this, Easyjet, I’m stranded at gate E28 in Milan airport (you know the one: it’s like the world’s most depressing stationery cupboard). I’m stranded here because you had to divert your flight from London to Egypt, Easyjet, due to a minor technical difficulty.
Now, Easyjet, I appreciate these things can’t be helped, and as a nervous flyer – I applaud your dedication to air safety. But the story doesn’t end there, does it Easyjet, you horrible low-cost fuckface titbags.
Having made us all get off the plane, Easyjet, so you could monitor the minor technical issue (which apparently “resolved itself” as soon as we landed), around 200 of us have been sat here for four hours without food, water and most importantly: booze. I know what you’re thinking, Easyjet, you clever little “come on; let’s fly” bastards: why not nip to the bar or the pizzeria or buy some treats from the vending machine? Well, Easyjet, you dick, that would require Euros. And between the 200 of us, we have about as many euros as we have gold Wonka bars.
We are trapped here, Easyjet, like an infestation of mice in a KFC kitchen. We’re not allowed outside, Easyjet. We’re like Tom Hanks, Easyjet, in that shit film about Tom Hanks being stranded in a shit airport.
So as I write this, Easyjet, you diabolical orange knobheads, I’m about to visit the men’s toilets for a lovely refreshing cocktail of tap water topped off by the smell of piss.
I know what you’re thinking, Easyjet, you wise old cuntpuffins: why not just ask the gate controller for a drink of water? Oh we have, Easyjet. Here’s what he told me: “I ask for water but they send me a bus.”
And to be clear Easyjet, you terrible low-price arse, there are elderly people, kids, and diafuckingbetics here, Easyjet; who are currently having the shittest holiday ever (not to mention my massive hangover from your overpriced shit wine, Easyjet).
But perhaps the most unbelievable thing about your behaviour today, Easyjet you prick, is the fact that not one of you are here to talk to us. You are hiding in some kind of Easyjet VIP lounge, Easyjet, like an even more orange cast of TOWIE.
Nothing has been easy about today, Easyjet. You should change your name to Hardjet, Easyjet. Or Big Orange Penisjet, Easyjet.
How spineless and unhelpful you are, Easyjet. What a big orange shit you are, Easyjet.
Right, must dash, Easyjet – I’m due another handful of toilet water.
Thanks for everything.