So I was sitting, reading Cosmopolitan ,which by the way is the best and
funniest magazine ever written because it has close-ups of coke-fiend girls
staring right through you in a hazy stupor and wearing dresses hanging off
their emaciated bones, with articles about how stylish and beautiful they
are, and minding my own business, when this stocky black woman in a
hairnet and a cocktail dress rips the door off the pilot's cabin by it's
steel hinges and began beating the passengers to death with it one by
one. A voice came on the intercom to remain calm, so I tried to go back
to my magazine, but after a while the muffled cries of alarm and bashing
crunching noises began to get to me, so I looked up from the
model with a picture of a vagina painted on her face and saw that she was
now two rows ahead of me with no sign of stopping. I unbuckled my
seatbelt. The captain patiently explained to me the importance of
seatbelts in case the airplane disintegrated out from under us but I
assured him that I would put it right back on in just one second and just
as she was about to clobber my face I leaped out the window and rode a
schoolbus down to Terra Firma, the acceleration of which journey was so
extreme that the lake in which I landed was no cushion, and the police
had to come and scrape me off the bottom.
Amen,
Icarus QPM
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