Monday, June 22, 2009

Assclown in charge

It’s been a few hours since my plane landed and I can still feel the rage coursing through my veins. Even 4 milligrams of Lorazepam have done little to dim my now homicidal impulses.

Of course everyone has a nightmare airplane story and I will not bother to bore you with mine. Nor will I link you to the famous “Continental Flight 29E” story. You will have to hunt that one down yourself, because frankly I cannot top that.

But if I had my druthers, and I rarely do, I would love to get my hands on United Airlines Chief Executive Officer Glenn F. Tilton (compensation $10.3 million).

Having subdued Glenn with a rabbit punch to the carotid artery, I would tie his hairless, well- manicured body to a large 9 foot metal rod. I would then paint him head-to-toe in a hand-crafted marinade of molasses, kosher salt, cracked pepper, cumin and crushed garlic.

While screaming for mercy, I would gently remind Glenn that “his business was important to me, thank him for his patience and ask him to remain tethered to the pole.”

Glenn’s well-seasoned body, corsetted to the 9 foot metal rod, would then be carried by dim-witted Customer Service Operator Raj Mahadajur and his immovable Supervisor, Mariam Patel, and placed over a slow burning flame in a pit situated on the beautiful plains of Tanzania.

I forgot to mention that on the flight to Africa, Glenn would have been forced to sit in the non-reclining, non-seat directly across from, and within arm’s length of, the plane's only functioning crapper.

But I digress.

Raj and Mariam would slowly turn the spit until their phone-abusing hands were sufficiently blistered and Glenn’s body was encased in a beautiful golden brown crust. Not cooked too well mind you, because large game enjoy their meat bloody and red.

Of course, the lions, tigers and hyenas would love the tasty executive morsels. But the meat would be so delicious, so savory, so-fall-off-the-bone-good, that even the herbivorous giraffes and hippos would take part in the feast.

In fact, I can imagine one of the giraffes -- having already crossed the gastronomical threshold of believability -- pausing between bites, lifting his giant speckled head, and whispering to one of his former plant-eating mates, “I know Rich got royally screwed by United Airlines, but damn if this isn’t best BBQ Honey-Crusted, Grossly-Incompetent Corporate Douchebag I have ever tasted.”


plaidbus said...

You've officially lost it.

Anonymous said...

I believe your next book should be a cookbook.


glasgowdick said...

With apologies to Rod Serling...

"To Serve Douchebags."