Things The Baron Hates: Wheely Bags Anywhere But At The Airport Or On The Way To The Airport

As you may now know, The Baron has a healthy hatred of anything and anyone that hinders his travels in even the slightest way. Wheely bag users are no exception.

The Baron remembers a time when people had to lug classic style suitcases through the airport check in lines. He remembers that it sucked sloppy, uncircumcised weiner. Therefore, The Baron was not at all displeased with the addition of wheels to nearly every suitcase starting in about 1997.

The Baron often wonders what the fuck took the suitcase magnates so goddamn long to think that something heavy and cumbersome might work better if it had wheels. It worked for cars, lawnmowers, bikes, trains, planes, wheelbarrows, oxcarts.....are you retarded Samsonite?

However, the fact that The Baron enjoys not having to carry the full weight of a suitcase does not mean that he universally likes rolly bags. In fact, in the vast majority of situations, The Baron hates the ever loving shit out of them.

Example:

1. You're a mouth breathing, goat fondling assmaster. You're on a train. It's crowded. You have a backpack. It barely weighs enough to stifle an infant. Yet...Yet...you have some stupid, pansy assed handle extended and you're wheeling it around on the floor like it's full of lead bricks. Also, you're standing in the doorway blocking the egress of The Baron and some other filthy barely sentient plebes. You should be thrown in the rapeosaurus pit you cockbag!

2. You're walking down a narrow sidewalk on let's say Charles St, right in front of the Beacon Hill Pub (one time The Baron's Brubaker tasted like clams there), you're heading all the way to the common. You're a lady no doubt. You're dragging a large corduroy suitcase that looks like it could safely fit a brace of mummies inside. For some fucking reason your legs are broken and each step is labored and slow. The Baron and a herd of ape-sheep are on their way to work. You're in the fucking way and you know it. GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY YOU CUM-GLAZED BABY FACTORY!!!

3. It's night time. The Baron's palace abuts a brick sidewalk. For some goddamn reason the city thinks bricks are classy and puts them everywhere. In the winter they are unplowable and become caked with ice. The city expects you to buy a fucking dump truck full of salt and clear it yourself. Yet, you have no say in what material it was paved in. The Baron digresses. Ummm, ah yes. A group of people, let's call them shit-dicks, are rolling down the sidewalk like a pack of saddlebacked mules dragging ore carts. The little fucking wheels are making a godawful racket. The Baron is roused from his couch nap and rushes out to accost you. He is naked and wielding an 8$ Ocean State Job Lot wrecking bar. The Baron savagely bludgeons your group to death in a mist of blood, bone chips and frothing saliva. Also he is really, really naked. This somehow makes The Baron a criminal....

The Baron thinks those examples should be sufficient to make you see why wheely suitcases, like cellphones, are more hassle than they're worth and should be made illegal. Now if you'll excuse The Baron, he needs to pick out a formal cod piece for court.