It's Been a Long Time, E. E. Cummings.

Photo Courtesy of alaska-in-pictures.com

I just flew in, and boy does everything suck about flying. It's not enough that they force me to have to buy my airline tickets from a middleman with worse customer service than Comcast. Airline companies and the FAA/TSA these days want to make sure that every single thing about your flying experience is insufferable in every way, down to the -eenth detail.

From the moment you are first dropped off at the airport by a friend whom is almost immediately threatened by a rent-a-cop for illegally "parking" in the drop-off area, to the molestation of someone's little girl you had to witness as you were taking off all of your clothing in attempt to prevent your own molestation, all the way up until you are sarcastically and almost conspiratorially "thanked" for flying with Total Bastard Airlines, everything about the modern day flying experience is very much like how I imagine bondage would be.

If you're the type of person who is into paying a substantial fee to be poked, prodded, spoken down to, disrespected, and forced to perform awkward and embarrassing tasks in front of an audience, then, much like a visit to your local dominatrix, I HIGHLY recommend you taking a plane ride to somewhere in the near future.

I guess the days of rock stars hiding cucumbers wrapped in aluminum foil down their trousers when going through airport security are officially over. I highly doubt Chris Martin (he's the lead singer for Cold Play; the most prolific band of the new millennium, but whom have been the unfortunate recipients of a "gay by association" pop-culture myth of late. He's also married to the single most overrated, and third most self-absorbed woman in all of Hollywood, Gwyneth Paltrow) wants the uncomfortable media attention that would come as a result of a cucumber being shoved up his daughter's ass by airport officials in the middle of a crowded airport, because you know the TSA now has the right to enforce that immediate punishment to all foil-wrapped cucumber stuffers.

Here's a true story. The last time I flew, I had to throw out the bottle of water I paid $12 for at the "Doodie Free" shop because, though fewer than 4 oz. of liquid remained, it was capable of holding more than 4 oz. of liquid. However, when they pulled my carry-on out of the metal detector to further inspect what had made the alarm go off, and they discovered that I was carrying-on a stainless steel shower head, with a 6', flexible, stainless steel hose, they said, "Oh, it's just a 6 lb. stainless steel shower head, and 6', flexible, stainless steel hose. Let this guy through!"

First of all, I could blow up the entire FAA and TSA with 1/10 of an ounce of liquid.

B, and I don't need to tell you this, but I'm gonna anyway; I could sneak up behind each flight attendant, and bash them over the head with my 6lb. shower head, before entering the cock pit and choking the remaining flight crew to death with my 6', flexible, stainless steel hose. No wait...nah, nevermind. I'd be far too thirsty to put forth that kind of effort. No wait...I'd just steal all the drinks from the flight attendants I killed with my 6lb. shower head. Okay, I'm back on board. But shit! Now I'm drunk. There's no way I can high a fly-jacked plane while under the alchyfluence of inkyhol. Why did I even do this in the first place?

Oh yeah, THEY MOLESTED MY DAUGHTER! That's right. I wouldn't normally be this angry and vengeful a person. Normally, I'd leave this sort of behavior for the pilot-trained, professional terrorists of the world; fighting for some holy cause. But there's only so much that a sane man can tolerate before he finds himself passed out drunk behind the joystick of a high-jacked 757 . Planes are steered with joysticks, right?

Today is the day to consider taking the long road. As much as you want for that to be today's horoscope, I mean it in the most literal sense possible. Drive there instead of flying. No matter what the distance, the exorbitant price of gasoline compounded with the number of hours/days longer it will take is nothing in comparison to the amount of mental torment and anguish you will spare your already readily failing mind.

This one you can take both literally AND metaphorically, if you so wish: If there's not already a road between where you are, and where you are going, build one. Start by writing to your Congressperson asking them to support any piece of legislation that promotes the building of bridges across all major oceans, as I have done here:

from	A Realistist
to		hank.johnson@house.gov
date		Fri, Jul 14, 2011 at 2:36 PM
subject		I see no other way out...
mailed-by		realistism.blogspot.com

Dear Hank,

I've seen you in public exactly one time. It was at a Campus Film Festival. You were an honorary guest speaker. You had the floor for all of three minutes. During that time you made hilariously inappropriate jokes with regard to the legalization of marijuana and your chronic use of such. I found this to be one of the most amazing feats of "Realistism" I've ever witnessed from a politician.

Needless to say, I did not vote for you, nor would I ever, as I found your banter at the dismissal of the illegalities of a "dangerous drug" such as marijuana entirely inappropriate for an audience full of weak-minded college kids. Especially when I consider the fact that the government to whom you are an active, salaried employee, recently decided to raise the interest rate of the loans many of those college students are using to put themselves through school, instead of implementing a higher tax penalty on corporations whom are found guilty of misappropriation of funds and/or tax evasion.

Nevertheless, I write to you today in hopes that you have the potential to, on rare occasions, take some aspect of your job seriously.

You see, the other day, I was on a plane, and, well, after I watched the TSA forcibly insert a cucumber wrapped in aluminum foil into the anus of an 8-year-old American girl, I was offered a bag of stale peanuts by a foul smelling flight attendant. And that's when it dawned on me that I wanted to brutally murder the entire flight crew with my 6lb, stainless steel shower head, and 6', flexible, stainless steel hose before drinking myself half to death and crashing the hi-jacked plane into the nearest mountain range.

Then I thought, nope. I have a better idea. Why don't I get Hank Johnson to get Congress to build me a fucking bridge all the way to Europe (or wherever the fuck else I might want to go before I die) from the United States, so that I don't have to fucking board an airplane ever again as long as I live.

Can you fucking do that for me, Hank?

Either way, I still won't be voting for you in the next election, but mostly because I'll never research enough about politics to even know when the next election will be held. I have a headache just from looking up your e-mail address on the house of representatives website.

Sincerely,

M. Lono

P.S. - Have you ever watched C-Span? Have you seen how boring your job is? I'd smoke pot all day long too if I had to sit through that shit! You're welcome for me giving you something to do for a change.

Chart Courtesy of boardingarea.com