Air Excess

Have you flown with Air Excess?
I did so recently;
It’s an experience you shouldn’t miss.
Soon as the plane is in the air,
The passengers light up joyfully,
And everyone’s disposed to share,
In the old Cary Grant-ish way,
Saying to others ‘Would you care
For a Rothman? ‘Have a Sobranie!’
Hostesses in their underwear
(Stockings, suspenders de rigueur)
Pass round champagne, and fluted glasses;
The whole cabin’s in a roar,
The captain, shirt in disarray,
Appears and leads a merry song:
‘Thank God we’re leaving the UK.
We’re free!’ Glasses are being clinked
From row to row, or smashed
To celebrate some couple’s wedding
--They’re copulating in the aisle
While people watch admiringly
And shout Bravo! All arms are linked,
And everyone’s completely smashed.
We don’t know where
The flight is heading and don’t care.
The moon, perhaps. And it’s so cheap!
Food’s extra, a few quid, but nice,
Like Helford oysters served on ice.
There’s shameless swapping between seats:
People who’ve never dared to stray
From their dull marriages entwine
With strangers; no one gives a toss,
Being on an Excess holiday,
Staid matrons are seen licking wine
From unzipped rampant cocks and balls,
And their staid husbands don’t look cross,
Lost in an ecstasy of cunt.
It’s even wilder at the front,
With threes and fours mixed up (the space
More generous in Club Excess).
Ten quid for Gatwick to Moldova,
And taking in Niagara Falls,
That’s all I paid, plus airport tax,
And wished it to be never over;
I really started to relax.
Book your flight now. Don’t be dumb:
Google AirExcess.com