Listen up, bitch-ass fools. When it comes to booking airline tickets on the Internet, King Kong ain’t got shit on me. I’m the baddest motherfucker in the land, and I don’t take no for an answer. I didn’t go to no Airplane Ticket Booking Academy, and it’s a good thing I didn’t, because the shit you learn there will get you killed in this world. This is the real world, and I don’t play by its rules. I play by my rules. And my rule is that there are no rules.
When I wake up every morning, I’m thinking one thing: It takes a wolf to catch a wolf. And I’m a motherfucking wolf in sheep’s clothing when it comes to finding flight-plus-hotel packages online. You know why? Cuz I don’t view the world in black and white. I see in gray. I don’t blur the line between right and wrong, because there is no line between right and wrong. Some days you gotta put your trigger finger on that computer mouse and just say, “Fuck it.”
Point. Click. Bang, motherfucker.
Either you just booked airline tickets at an affordable rate, or you’re lying in the gutter with a crimson mask, and ain’t nobody gonna pick you up and carry you to your destination. The world don’t work like that, and I’m the one motherfucker out there who don’t try to deny it.
Lotta niggas say I use questionable methods to find midweek-departure dates, but nobody questions that I get results. When you’re out there looking for fares, it’s every man for himself. It ain’t about finding the best deals or avoiding layovers, it’s about surviving. You gotta use your brain power nowadays. Shit’s computerized. I’m thinking 10 moves ahead. This shit’s chess, it ain’t checkers. Check and mate, motherfucker. Check and mate.
Some people fear me, some people respect me, some people hate me, some people don’t wanna get within 50 feet of me cuz they know they don’t stand a fucking chance. I’m not an evil man and I’m not a good man. I’m just a man. We’re all just men, and the sooner you realize that, the sooner you’ve got your Pacific Northwest excursion booked.
If you want me to help you find plane tickets, you best unlearn all that shit they taught you in Sunday school. I got your back, yeah—but I can turn on you in an instant. I just don’t give a fuck. Expedia, Hotwire, Cheapflights? Fuck them bitches. I got my own methods, shit you ain’t never seen before. Shit you never knew existed. But I ain’t holding no hands, I ain’t babysitting—you don’t like my style of airline-ticket purchasing, then get the fuck out of my home office. Shit.
I ain’t afraid to open up my eyes and see the world of air-travel ticket searches for what it is. Sometimes you gotta look right into the credit-card payment field and see that nothing’s down there but fear. Sometimes you gotta get your soul a little dirty. That’s what I do when I get on FareChase. I’m not looking to win the Mr. Nice Guy Award for booking plane tickets, cuz if I was, I would never get shit booked. Every second can either make you or break you, and it can put your baby nuts in a vice and crack ’em like motherfucking pistachios, but I’m man enough to stand up there and say, “Fuck you, Priceline, you bitch-ass motherfucker.”
Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom. That’s the way I do it, bitches.
You want nonstop flights? You want exit-row seats? You want 20-plus channels of DirecTV? Fuck you. Shit don’t work like that. Shit don’t work like that in the real world. I know that. I know sometimes you gotta take what you can get and fuck the rest, cuz there ain’t nowhere to hide except a six-foot hole in the ground. It’s kill or be killed out there, and I ain’t ready to die. Not yet, anyway. I still got a goddamn three-day, two-night business trip to Hartford to book.
Damn, motherfucker.
