It is Tuesday evening, September 25th, 2007.
I have been in Fargo, North (fucking) Dakota since Sunday evening.
And NorthWest Airlines still has no FUCKING CLUE where my luggage is!
Do you know where Fargo is?
It’s just a wee bit south of Canada.
Do you know where jacket and my clothes are?
In my fucking bag.
Do you know where my bag is?
NEITHER DOES ANYBODY ELSE!!! Northwest Airlines least of all!
How hard is it to get a bag from Atlanta to Fargo, preferably at the same time as its owner?
Well, if you ask Northwest Airlines its like simultaneously practicing brain surgery AND rocket science while reciting the entire contents of the Library of Congress. Backwards. In Aramaic. While drunk. On the MOON!
WHAT THE FUCK, PEOPLE!!?
You drop me off in (fucking) FARGO with nothing but the clothes on my BACK, NO FUCKING JACKET, ONE pair of dirty underwear to my name, and all you’ve got to say is “Sorry for the Inconvenience!?”
ARE
YOU
FUCKING
KIDDING ME!?
No, you’re not kidding. You’re SERIOUS! You SERIOUSLY have no IDEA where my shit is!
How about you fucking KEEP your “sorry” and FIND MY GODDAMN CLOTHES YOU MANGY SONS OF CRAB-INFESTED BITCHES! HOLY SHIT, how incompetent ARE you fucknobs?! Forty-Eight fucking HOURS and it’s not “your bag is in transit” or “we found your bag in Botswana”… it’s “We don’t have the slightest fucking IDEA where your bag is, sorry, our bad”?!
And what was it the last time I asked? Oh… the people in Atlanta haven’t returned your phone call yet. I wouldn’t return your call either, you retarded FUCKS! What did you say in your message when you left it: “uh-DUrrrrRRRrrrrrrr-Can You Has Baghh?”
YOU FUCKERS BETTER PRODUCE MY BELONGINGS BEFORE I LOSE MY FUCKING MIND AND START CHEWING THROUGH YOUR ENTIRE EMPLOYEE DIRECTORY LIKE A RAGE-INFECTED VELOCIRAPTOR ON BAD ACID!
Bitches.
AND your stewardesses are ugly.
…
…I probably shouldn’t post this. Fuck it-