A pilot who landed a flight at Dulles Airport Friday morning reported that "pretty much everyone on the plane threw up" during the windy descent," CNN affiliate WJLA reported.

"Very bumpy on descent," the pilot's report reads. "Pretty much everyone on the plane threw up. Pilots were on the verge of throwing up."

Dulles Airport has tweeted there is a temporary ground stop at the airport and the FAA Tower was briefly evacuated due to high winds.

Full story here.

Oh my god. This is hell. This is the absolute worst case scenario on a plane short of death. I dare you to create a worse situation on a plane where everyone lives. You can’t. First of all you’re flying in a storm, that’s terrible. Nobody likes that. You’ve spent the whole flight wondering whether you’re going to die. Next, it’s a bumpy landing, also the fucking worst. 

Imagine yourself there. You’re flying in the middle of a storm, and you keep on remembering that twilight zone where the furry animal is out on the wing dismantling the plane. That can’t be happening right now can it? This plane is bumping up and down. You’re sure you’re going to die. In fact, you’ve never been more convinced of anything in your life. You’ve had 4 diet cokes already, and the flight attendant is judging you hard for it. Fuck. Next thing you know you’re landing, but this shit is bumpy too. Fuck. Everybody hates bumpy landings. Your psyche gets out of control. It’s not up to you, there’s nothing you can do about it, and it’s as inevitable as the sunrise: if you’re going through a bumpy landing, you think you’re going to die. The two go together like peanut butter and jelly; like getting punched in the jejunum and throwing up. The only control you have is how you handle it. You can handle it like I did the last time I thought I was going to die on a plane: where I stared straight ahead and thought of what a bummer it was that nobody was ever going to see the full shot for shot remake of Dirty Dancing my friends and I were making, or you can handle it like the woman next to me who started screaming at me to open the window so that she could lay eyes on our imminent demise firsthand. To each their own. Speaking of getting punched in the jejunum and throwing up, you start throwing up. You’ve never thrown up on a plane. You’ve never been that guy. Let me tell you, fella, you’re that guy now. One bag isn’t enough, all that diet coke- all that bubbly, and so you reach over to steal your seat partners bag. Only problem is, they’re also throwing up. In fact, the entire plane is throwing up; just barfing up a storm. Halfway digested airport food floods the aisles like the eleventh biblical plague, and the smell, nay the stench, quickly fills the not-so-vast chamber of recycled air. It’s carnage. It’s like Vietnam all over again. Oh god, the pilots are throwing up. You can hear them over the intercom. They’re trying to get out of the cockpit, but they can’t: there’s too much vomit. Vomit is basically flowing out of the luggage compartments at this point like the airborne Amityville Horror. 

I think you get the point. Much like the titanic Real Housewives of New York episode I blogged a couple weeks ago, this is the stuff of nightmares. Plane going down, storm raging, everybody throwing up. Free airplane miles for life. Free airplane miles for everybody.