Nick Fury has a call on his cellphone... and he gonna take it!2) Keep your fucking job on the ground. If you work for a company attached to our planet (a business either on or below the Earth's surface), do all us other passengers a huge favor: leave your business there. Don't attempt to unpack several hundred pounds of business equipment onto your narrow, six-inch wide plastic tray. Believe it or not, you won't get fired if you fail to produce several 50-page dissertations on the art of selling your dumb-ass pontoon boats during a 40-minute flight to Atlanta. You'll get fired because you're an insufferable airline asshole who will never experience love.
The majority of businesses are located inside buildings for a distinct reason, primarily because the public doesn't want your company spilling over into their personal space. We demand your business be contained at all times, and if a rogue piece of business somehow escapes from your office and tries to flee for freedom, the anti-business minefield encompassing your office exterior must annihilate it. When I sit down to watch a quality DVD such as "Catman In Lethal Track" or "The Impossible Kid," I intentionally avoid inviting over 200 pounds of upwardly-mobile airline asshole to ejaculate quarts of Excel spreadsheets and Wall Street Journal printouts all over my couch and lap. As far as I'm concerned, the only person justified in doing their work during flight has an eyepatch, smokes a cigar, and pays for several $5 Miller Lights with his S.H.I.E.L.D. credit card. So next time you find yourself squeezed between two suits determined to convert the surrounding 30-foot area into their own private dickhead office full of pie charts and colorful college football chat, hand them a printout of this helpful image:
Nobody cares about the banal, excruciatingly moronic office politics affecting your ability to ship 300 pounds of fishing string to southern Nebraska. Instead of spending several hundred thousand dollars on a high tech future phone capable of syncing your bluetooth phone with your ragged hairpiece, consider investing in a microphone so you don't have to shout out each and every word of your entire conversation, broadcasting it throughout the entire area code.
3) The "fasten seat belts" sign means "fasten seat belts." Perhaps I'm a member of some elite minority group able to decipher and translate complex commands written in advanced alien languages, because the phrase "fasten seat belts" seems fairly obvious to me. Broken down, it can be separated into two distinct sections:
"fasten" = attach
"seat belts" = seat belts
Artist rendition of what the average airline seat will look like in 2009.To solve the potential issue of crippling confusion, the activation of this neon sign invariably arrives accompanied by the voice of either the pilot or flight attendant adding something along the lines of, "we're about to experience some turbulence, so the captain is turning on the fasten seat belts sign. Please sit down and fasten your seat belts until the light is turned off." If you're one of the many, many people who interpret these two related events to mean "unfasten your seat belt right now AS FAST AS YOU CAN, RIGHT NOW, FOR GOD'S SAKE DO IT RIGHT THIS FUCKING INSTANT!!!" then I can only pray your flight experiences enough turbulence to repeatedly bash your skull against the ceiling until your brain transforms into a bloody shower of bite-sized chewy pieces.
Here's a little handy guide I jotted down during a recent flight, addressing a few of the more common questions and scenarios I witnessed:
WHEN THE "FASTEN SEAT BELTS" SIGN IS ACTIVATED:
- DON'T spontaneously decide that exact moment would be the optimal time to take a shit. You know when it's the best time to go to the bathroom? When you're in the airport and waiting for your flight to arrive, Grandma Pissjugs. If you've got a majestic river of runny acidic bile leaking from your malformed anus, choke down an Immodium and reply "no" when your decrepit spouse asks if you want to ingest a couple hundred cheeseburgers in the airport McDonalds.
- DON'T spring out of your seat to check the status of your overhead luggage. If you placed your bag in the overhead compartment before takeoff, I can assure you that it's still there. A wormhole did not open up and transport your precious carry-on full of stale cookies and electrical flags to some other dimension. I can't even name another dimension that would want the garbage you carry on to a plane. Perhaps the shithead dimension.
- DON'T get up so you can walk to the complete opposite end of the plane and ask your husband a very important question regarding your cat. Your cat is dead. I murdered it. I am the man who murdered your cat. Question answered.
- DO fasten your seat belt, you amazingly abhorrent heap of failed flesh.
At the risk of over-complicating things and blowing the internet's collective mind, I'd like to additionally explain the request, "please put your seat and tray table in the upright and locked position." This means, at that particular moment in time, you should STOP TYPING YOUR GODDAMN ENGLISH DISSERTATION AND PUT AWAY THAT STUPID TRENDY SONY LAPTOP YOUR DAD BOUGHT YOU, BECKY. It also means I KNOW YOU'RE OLD AND ABOUT TO DIE AND YOUR KIDS NEVER TALK TO YOU, BUT PLEASE PULL YOUR FILTHY CHAIR FORWARD LIKE THE AIRLINE ATTENDANT ASKED YOU TO DO REPEATEDLY, IN SEVERAL DIFFERENT LANGUAGES, NONE OF WHICH YOU UNDERSTAND BECAUSE YOU'RE AN ATROPHYING ABOMINATION.
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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