The story of how Continental Airlines almost stole Christmas

Everyone who knows me in real life knows about our travel debacle, because I couldn't shut the fuck up about it this week. The short version is that Continental tied us to a pole, poured honey over our naked bodies and released the hungry lions. The customer-service rep at Continental should drown in a lake of rat pee. Buzzards should peck out his eyeballs. Telemarketers should call his house every day at 3 am to ask him if he has Prince Albert in a can. No trip from New York to Denver should involve a connecting "flight" from Newark to LaGuardia. That douche nugget couldn't find our reservations, so he wanted us to buy brand new tickets, all the while speaking to us in that voice you reserve for people who don't understand for the sixth time that salmon is not a vegetable. On the other hand, the customer service rep at United was our hero. May she forever relax in a really comfy recliner while well-oiled men (or women, if she prefers) feed her strawberries. She's the reason we made it to Colorado in time for Christmas and got an upgrade to first class. Unlimited wine and wide seats made everything mostly better.

I did have the fun of seeing Devon lose it, which for him is saying "screw you" and threatening to call the Better Business Bureau. He's an animal.

We're torn about the experience, because United and Continental are the same company, except one half sucks ferret peen and the other doesn't.