On a recent transatlantic flight, a plane passes through a severe storm. The turbulence is awful, and things go from bad to worse when one wing is Struck by lightning. One woman in particular loses it. Screaming, she stands up in the front of the plane. "I'm too young to die," she wails. Then she yells, "Well, if I'm going to die, I want my last minutes on earth to be memorable! Is there anyone on this plane who can make me feel like a woman?" For a moment there is silence. Everyone has forgotten his or her own peril. They all stared, riveted, at the desperate woman in the front of the plane.
Then a man stands up in the rear of the plane. He is gorgeous: tall, well built, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. He starts to walk slowly up the aisle, unbuttoning his shirt ... one button at a time. No one moves...
He removes his shirt... Muscles ripple across his chest... She gasps... He whispers..."Iron this, and get me something to eat, bitch."
Then a man stands up in the rear of the plane. He is gorgeous: tall, well built, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. He starts to walk slowly up the aisle, unbuttoning his shirt ... one button at a time. No one moves...
He removes his shirt... Muscles ripple across his chest... She gasps... He whispers..."Iron this, and get me something to eat, bitch."
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Vanhimmat
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