it's good to be homeski

The flight home - hungover, half-coiffed Marge Simpson hairdo with its own driver’s license, and a kid – a spawn from the minions of Hell – kicking the back of our seats and screaming.

For 1 hour 50 minutes, I’m turning around spasmotically, to kill the ‘Rents of this child with an eyeball hairier than Jack Black’s ball bag prior to a back sack and crack, and still, the kid kicked the fucking seat and yelled, the entire journey home.

Basically, we were holding onto our sanity with a thread the size of a BMW 760 Series driver’s pecker, on the brink of mental asylumdom. Right until that aircraft bellyflopped out of the sky, sending our collective ovaries through the oxygen retainers above. Just bounced our way across Lanseria. (Seriously – calibrate your altimetre, pilot guy.)

Needless to say, we were pushing a bead or two by the time we got off that flying death machine.

Peas: How many Eve’s* do you think it would take to make you go insane and be admitted into a mental hospital?

[kicking screaming kid directly into ear]

Damager: Seven days. Without a doubt, a conservative estimate, seven days would do it.

[kicking screaming kid directly into ear]

T: Nah, I reckon ten days.

[kicking screaming kid directly into ear]

Damager: Seven days. Think about it, an Eve a day.

[kicking screaming kid directly into ear]

C2: What do you think would happen if we drank two Eve’s now?

[kicking screaming kid directly into ear]

Poen: Dude, we’d get Eve Demons. There’s loser’s complex; and then there are Eve Demon’s. And on a Sunday – with or without the Carte Blanche music - that would kill you. Fair and square.

[kicking screaming kid directly into ear]

Peas: So on the Eve-ometre…Evometre, out of ten, which is worse do you think, having it poured down your earhole or having it on your cornflakes every day for one month?

[kicking screaming kid directly into ear]

Damager: Eveentually, you’d die. I reckon it would take less than 8 Eve’s in quick succession to kill a grown man.

[kicking screaming kid directly into ear]

Poen: What's worse – mainlining Eve directly into your jugular, or…a heart attack?

[kicking screaming kid directly into ear]

Damager: How many Eve’s would you okes forsake just not to be on this flight?

[kicking screaming kid directly into ear]

Peas: Eight thousand. What’s worse though – this trantruming devil child, or a free case of Eve every week for the rest of your life?

[kicking screaming kid directly into ear]

C2: What’s more socially incorrect: pitching up at Prince William’s birthday party with a case of Eve’s, or…gargling in public? With Eve?

[kicking screaming kid directly into ear]

Poen: What’s more socially incorrect: Having Eve as a name, or drinking Eve as a product?

[kicking screaming kid directly into ear]

Damager: Please, once we get off this neverending Flight From Hell, can we leave Eve on the plane?

[kicking screaming kid directly into ear]

Peas: What do you think would kill you quicker right now: brake fluid soaked through bread, or an Eve?

[kicking screaming kid directly into ear]

C2: What’s worse: bathing in Eve, or waking up in a vom bucket of Eve?

[kicking screaming kid directly into ear]

Peas: Would you rather fling yourself out of a plane via parachute over a molten bubbling hot volcano blindfolded…or be the dude who collects the battery acid for the Eve recipe/be a professional Eve taster?

Damager: That would be quite an Evevent.

*Pink carbonated brake fluid, packaged and harvested in Centurion, and marketed as ‘champagne;’ makes you hang after twenty minutes; drank lots of these on the way down due to stupidity and misguided over-enthusiasm.