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And the people on the airplane are upchucking universally
In the baggies in the pockets of the seat backs on the plane.
And there's doctors and lawyers, and business executives,
And they all reach for their sicky-sackies and they wish they took the train.
All the passengers have one fear, while bouncing through the stratosphere:
They are bumping, stomachs jumping, and the pilots are to blame.
Here's a green one, and a pale one. How nausea doth assail one!
And they're all in search of sicky-sackies and they all feel just the same.
The executives in first class have dined on delicious salmon mousse,
And they clutch their baggies thinking that the caterer is to blame.
But the masses in coach classes had nothing to eat but cashew nuts,
And they're also grabbing sicky-sackies, and they all feel just the same.
And the pilots, ever cautious, are also getting nauseous,
And they curse the weather briefer, for he surely is to blame
For the updrafts and the downdrafts, the windshear and the turbulence,
All unforecasted conditions that they just can't seem to tame.
The attractive flight attendant is perky and resplendent
In the remnants of her breakfast, but she's not one to complain.
Still, she calls up to the captain, cajoles him, then attacks him:
"We are running out of sicky-sackies. Won't you please just land the plane!"
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Copyright © H. Paul Shuch, Ph.D.; Maintained by Microcomm
this page last updated 14 June 2007