Someone had terrible gas in the airplane. Where's the patriot act when you need it?
Prepare the colon to return fire!
The whole plane sat on the tarmac for at least 15 minutes after we landed in Medford Oregon because the people in the Tower (a glorified term for the two drunks with binoculars in a hunting stand) on top of the airport (another 18 cent word I'm using to describe the shed the hunting stand was sitting on) had apparently smelled the fart on the plane and were otherwise too incapacitated to direct the pilot to one of the 3 available gates for de-boarding. The pilot, paralyzed by the open ended math problem facing him, decided the best course of action was to sit with all of the passengers and wait for the tower to wake up from their shit coma.
Plane A leaves Denver traveling west at 326 mph for 2 hours and 43 minutes, arrives with 59 normal passengers and 1 carrying a polluted payload. Plane A comes to a complete stand still at soon to be shit-stained airport. What is the difference between the captain's capacity for spatial reasoning and the passengers' perception of the passage of time as the limit of the passengers' tolerance for fecal math jokes approaches zero?