It was on a plane at thirty thousand feet. Practically outer space. I noticed when I went to wash my small hands that there was an attractive young lady apparently alone, possibly lonely, maybe even a little frightened of being away from her mother for the first time- her real mother- the mother of us all- Mother Earth- she’s like a broad in Greek Mythology- I went to college. I FELT AN OBLIGATION to invite her out of her outer space isolation. I HEEDED A VOICE that said invite the young woman to the seat I always reserve for such emergencies- legs up to here only her hemline went higher- higher than the plane- the seat next to me.
I explained the crisis to the stewardess who promptly and discretely passed the “upgrade” to the lass. Yes, I arranged it. Yes, I was deceitful in a generous and sensitive way so as not to make the young lady feel in any way obligated. The stewardess, tall, blond, Dutch like I like them but too busy at the time, escorted the accuser in question to the open space on my love seat. We were at at least thirty thousand feet- maybe even forty- practically outer space- Earth rules don’t apply. I’m up there. I’m Captain Kirk with an attractive- well, all the broads on the Enterprise are knockouts. No fatties. No dogs. No dogs. No hogs.
I was talking to this woman and it was thirty years ago when people still got laid and thirty thousand feet- deep space- even the Moon was like a dot- and it’s Star Trek and I’m Captain Kirk and she was no Spock I can tell you and we hit an air pocket as we were leaving the Earth’s atmosphere and I could feel the air pressure plunge so I plunged my small hands into her lower orifices so her bowels and birthing apparatus wouldn’t be sucked out of her into the cabin by the violent vacuum.
I was applying First Aid!
Look, doctors and nurses are going to deny this. They lie because no woman would take a plane again if this got out and there is no pill they can sell you to stop it so with no buck for them or anybody why blow the airline industry’s racket?
I’m talking about Tunnel Rectum and Puckered Pussy. Very real dangers for women. You can forget your creams. Forget your essential oils, special diets, yoga. Nothing is going to protect you, ladies. Especially your doctors. And the reason your doctors and nurses and therapists can’t help you is that they deny Tunnel Rectum and Puckered Pussy exist. Tens of thousands of cases documented every year and they’ll tell you it’s all in your head. No, Dumbbell, it’s in my ass not my head. Bill me when you get your head out of yours.
The doctors and the nurses and the airlines. Cahoots. The difference between a nurse and a stewardess? The uniform. Their own mothers couldn’t tell them apart. On the first Thursday of every month, the doctors fly the planes and pilots put on white robes and hit the hospitals and operating rooms. This has been going on for years. Since Monica Clinton and Bill Lewinsky.
And the real question is- who’s the victim here? A young woman now an old broad, unbeknownst to her, is invited to an upgrade from steerage to first class on the Starship Enterprise and gets to sit next to the Captain. The Star Fleet Captain since military school. Soon to be Star Fleet Commander in Chief. And we hit a bump and everything changes and the air changes and she just consumed my small hands with her vagina and anus. Taking advantage of them as though they were little children.
And I really wouldn’t go there if it wasn’t for the flagrant violation. Being accused of giving first aid to a young woman with so much of her femininity just hanging out of her no dress and now I’m supposed to be the bad guy? I saved her life. She was able to walk all the way back to steerage. No problem. Able to walk right through the rest of her hurtful, bitter life.
Saved her from an in flight air pressure hysterectomy and this is how she thanks me.
The broad in my tower was all over me. There’s no question. I kept trying to bob and weave between her relentless frontal attacks on my lips, my face. I can’t even mention what my small hands were trying to protect down there. It wasn’t my wallet, I can tell you. And she gets frustrated and then dizzy and before you know it I’m performing CPR on her to keep her on her feet. Probably the only guy beside her brother who ever did that. CPR, ladies and gentlemen. It was mouth to mouth. I don’t sing show tunes. And now, still alive after I saved her, she’s accusing me of what? kissing her? Give me a break.
Don Arrup
Satire1
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