Ocelot Commandos

Ocelot a lot
Ocelot a lot
Swaggering down the airport forecourt came the three denizens of animal print couture .
Three mighty examples of large , round , forceful , Hungarian womanhood , strode strode toward me adorned in top to toe animal print , fake gold , black or tight denim .
They were a force to be reckoned with , this majestic trio , trailing gargantuan suitcases
in their wake .
They literally didn’t shut up , and their assault on the Wizz Air drinks trolley , only served to rejuvenate their well developed vocal cords.
I loosely termed them the ocelot triplets .
Life giver , saver , wrangler and tamer that I am , I could hardly be termed squeamish , but they scared the hell outta me .
I voyeuristically gazed on , totally enthralled , & trapped in their spell as they gabbled , burped , farted , and transported themselves from the Hungarian to Ottoman Empires.
Silence was banished from Budapest departure gate 3 , until Istanbul passport control , where they presented a tri edged assault on the quaking Turkish customs official.
Number one was dressed in gloriously distressed stretch denims , black and gold emblazoned skintight tshirt , gold lame jacket Liberace would,ve been proud to own , and the piece de resistance , a pair of black fake leather storm trooper boots , strapped with three trapdoor size fake gold buckles across each.

Number two had the black version of the jeans , black top with indecipherable Hungarian quip ,all in gold of course , and fake leather black biker jacket sporting gold and ocelot embellishments ,looking like a latter day Michael Jackson impersonator.

Number three , a woman mountain , clearly the leader of the pack , was bedecked in head to toe black , and 100 variations of animal print .
This lady was not to be messed with , and clasped an animal toned handbag big enough to house all of Central Europe , to her vast bosom .
Muffin topped, peroxided , blinged up , 50 plus ,
foundation encrusted , they sported enough black eyeliner to ring the entire Australian coast line .
Fluoro orange talons gripped the headrests of our seat upon arrival in Turkey , and jointly they uttered the only words of English I ever heard them say ” who dares wins ”

Case of found objects
Case of found objects

Ranga

60 ‘s burnt orange is my body armour , bilious fake tan the shade. Anoxeric weight  proportions are a mere   2.1 kg .  Fast and speedy ,   never needy , wheels are my feet. Malvern spawned ,  Eastern Europe borne ,my neck is a steel double strut with black softtop . I have zips , zips , zips everywhere ,  zips to spare that go nowhere .

 

 

My Case
My Case

I am flashy ,

a tad trashy .

 

Portable , expandable , expendable , and dependable . Ryanair reject me if you dare .Comfortable , reliable , undeniably viable , packed tight with my tourist treasure trash , and forbidden glorious stash .

Relentless pleasure seeking , airborne , and always peaking , on another adventure and travel trail . Look out , I’ll  soon be in your town  , shouting the baggage carousel down , with garish tones of orange hue , zips , a handle , and a scuff or two . I am your ultra light , dynamic dream holder who won’t let you down , flight bound and constantly touring around .