Saturday, August 18, 2007

Waiting Room

I’ve been out of commission the past few weeks recovering from a brutal dental surgery that involved screws, needles, tequilla, and the ground up bones of long deceased militants from Paraguay. Over the years I’ve broken many pieces of my body, but this one has really put me down hard. It’s not easy eating Jello and drinking Boost for a few weeks. And my mouth is still more swollen than…ah…uh…Ashlee Simpson after a night in Gary Busey’s basement.

Shit. Used that line in my last post. These painkillers warp the meaning of time and language, and they make it completely impossible to come up with fresh material. But they do make television more interesting, and I sure have been watching plenty of that…

That new Heineken commercial with the green girl with the robotic arms is horrifying. Will someone tell their marketing department that they should be trying to sell me a delicious imported beer, not a thirty second glimpse into Aldous Huxley’s soul.

And I can’t believe there isn’t an easier way to get miners out of rock. For that matter, we still use people for mining? We haven’t invented some robot to do it? This story happens so routinely that newspapers might as well just create a base article and run it every few months.

I think this ongoing furor over Michael Vick killing dogs is a bit overrated. It’s a shitty thing to do, to be sure, but white people don’t even bat an eye over killing animals that can no longer race well. What’s the difference between fighting a pit-bull and racing a greyhound?

…And I could go on like this all night. Being bedridden is a lot like being an astronomer. A stoned, toothless astronomer. Next post I'll give my opinion on the conspiracy flick The Zeitgeist. It's been burning an interesting path along the walls of the web. But until than, buy your books with cash, keep an eye to the sky, and stock up on rubber pants.

Monday, August 6, 2007

Welcome Aboard FAYOR

I've been watching the news of all the flight delays in the United States and it gave me an idea. Recently I flew on Southwest to New York, and it wasn't so bad. But I felt that I was a patted down a little more than was necessary. Take your belt off, lift your shirt, take your shoes off, let the guards pat you down, let your bag get shuffled through like every possesion in there is worthless. You really take a beating when trying to get on that plane.

Leave me alone. Americans accept this abuse because it makes them feel safe on those silver cylinders that vault us through aerospace. But I've had it. Thus, I'm starting an airline (and currently accepting investors) called FAYOR. That'll be the logo on my wings. FAYOR stands for Fly At Your Own Risk. We don't pat you down at FAYOR, we just let you get to the gates whenever the fuck you want and toss you on. Our pilots? Probably drunk, but you have my word that they're the best Goddamn pilots in the sky.

And what time should you show up to FAYOR's gates? Five minutes before takeoff should do the trick. Our passengers get on the plane in a manner similar to that of The Lawyer at the end of Fear and Loathing. And sure, we'll make you go through a metal detector, but that's it. Once you get on that 1970's MD-80, or castoff 737, you're on your own. I think passengers will accept that and prepare for the flight accordingly.

But at least you won't be treated like Ashlee Simpson in the basement of Gary Busey's house at 4 in the morning. FAYOR is the Wild West of the skies, and you should pack your bags as such. We won't ask any questions. Our in-flight meal will be strip steak and straight warm whiskey, and our movie will be Fistful of Dollars. And we'll follow that with some real nasty Japanesse porn.

I'll say this though: That flight will arrive on time and your bag of cheap Russian made handguns will arrive in Puerto Rico untouched. That's the FAYOR motto. And if you try to hijack a FAYOR flight from Newark to Las Vegas, than all I can say is good luck...