“A very good morning and welcome aboard flight number 666 to New York. I am Captain Randolph Peasbody, your pilot today, and if there is anything I can do to make your flight more comfortable, please don’t hesitate to ask the crew. Of course, this doesn’t include anything sexual – there was this one rather frisky Texan who… well, I’ll spare you the precise details, but let me just say that he had the entirely wrong idea about what the word ‘cockpit’ means. Ha ha!
We’ll be flying… um, well, quite high really, to avoid hills, mountains and suchlike, primarily to prevent crashing, something that tends to score quite low in customer satisfaction surveys. It’s not a pleasant experience either, let me tell you… I’ve personally crashed five times at it can sometimes hurt a little. Ha ha!
The flight attendants will be demonstrating all of the safety features of this rather old Boeing aircraft. Sorry, I shouldn’t say rather old, I should call it ‘vintage’, shouldn’t I? Makes it sound kinda cool, don’t you think? This particular ‘plane should have been scrapped back in the States, but the airline thought they could squeeze one more round trip out of this old rust-bucket, so – after some quick holding repairs – here we are. It’s amazing what you can do with a roll of sticky tape, some papier-mache and a keen imagination, isn’t it? We discovered a couple of flights ago that this particular plane can float, so if the worst happens, at least we won’t drown. Ha ha!
Anyway, listen carefully to the flight attendants – they trained for a whole afternoon five years ago in order to be skilled enough to do this job, you know. It’s important that you pay special attention to the glorified waiters with delusions of grandeur today, because I’m flying solo… no co-pilot, you see. Unfortunately nobody will fly with me any more because my medication can sometimes cause me to become distressed and strike out without warning, so – because of my instability – it’s just me today. Never mind, eh? Ha ha!
Truth is, ladies and gentlemen, I’ve been feeling a little depressed recently. My mother died last Christmas and my wife left me a couple of months ago, taking my beloved dog, Scamp, with her. I haven’t been able to keep up the mortgage payments, so my house is being repossessed, and my daughters seem to think that I’m nothing but a walking wallet. So, you see, I’ve been, you know, kind of lonely and it has been difficult to keep myself from hitting the bottle. My doctor says that these feelings will pass, but I’m not so sure. It’s not a good sign when you wake up screaming, is it? Especially when you’re in the middle of flying a plane. Ha ha!
On the last trip, on the way to Heathrow, I had this irresistible urge to shove the controls forward and to send us plummeting like a speeding elephant into the ocean and to let God be my judge for taking all of those innocent souls with me. I mean, Jesus! Wouldn’t we all be better off dead? This fucking life just screws you up, kicks you when you’re down… there’s nobody ever there for you when you’re lonely, nobody to bail you out when you’re arrested for indecent exposure… I mean, what is the point, ladies and gentlemen, what is the fucking point?
Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, our movie today is the excruciatingly dreadful “Stop, Or My Mom Will Shoot” and your choice of shitty airline meal is either chicken curry or pasta in some kind of red sauce which may or may not be tomato, but because my behaviour is obviously a cry for help and not a serious attempt at suicide, I wouldn’t touch either with a barge pole. I’ve been sensible and brought sandwiches… cheese and pickle, if you’re interested. So, please fasten your seatbelts, sit back, relax, enjoy the flight and I’ll see you on the other side. Of the Atlantic. Ha ha! Good luck and God speed. I miss you, Scamp. Thank you for flying with Northwest Airlines.”