Thursday, November 5, 2015

From reddit WP: You are %90 sure your flight attendants are Michael Jackson and Joseph Stalin.

Now, usually I'm about three prescription grade sleeping pills deep before getting on any flight, including flights from New York to Boston It all started with a turbulence scare at 10,000 feet in a 747 just after take off. We must have dropped a few hundred feet and I shit myself. Literally. Since then flying has been terrible. Which is terrible when you're an international pet rock connesuire. That's right, people pay me to check the legitimacy of their pet rock collection. It's a blessed life other than the travel.
I know we're just two strangers on Reddit but what I'm about to tell you there is a 90% chance it's true. The other 10% or so is due to a lot of recreational psychedelic usage when I was a wee lad. But that's neither here nor there. Besides I can usually tell when I'm having a flashback. I don't think this was one of those times.
Well, there I was at the Reno Tahoe international Airport in semi beautiful Reno Nevada. I'd looked at a casino moguls collection of pet rocks, confirmed all but one of their legitimate stance as a pet rock and was paid in cash and was given a tip of few hundred in casino credit. I stayed up all night playing 25 cent video poker at the sports bar. I didn't win much... Actually didn't win anything but I had a good time smoking Marlboro Smooths, drinking fuzzy navels, and watching sports Center over and over again. Well anyways, I arrived at the airport on time but somehow forgot to get my prescription refilled beforehand.
After a bit of a panic I decided going drunk would probably be just as effective. Boy howdy... Was I wrong. The take off was fine but headed west over the Sierra Nevada's was bumpier than a Cajun catfishes intestines. Well, before the bumpiness I noticed two of the flight attendants looked familiar. I couldn't quite place them though. Like maybe they were famous or something.
Anyways after the turbulence I panicked and ran to the lavatory. The seatbelt sign was still on but it didn't matter. I wasn't a about to shit myself for a second time. After doing my business I heard a knock on the door accompanied by a high pitched voice, " Hee Hee! Are you ok in there sir? I just want you to know ...I'm happy to be alive, I'm happy to be who I am... Mm beat it"
I did what anyone else would do and said, "that's beautiful man. Thank you. Yes I'm fine I'll be right out." After exiting a man with a face of a melting angel greeted me with a sly smile and moonwalked me back to my seat. Of course I moon walked with him. It's not everyday your flight attendant is a Michael Jackson impersonator.
After we reached the other side of the Sierra Nevada's drink service was held. Of course I was looking forward to another adult beverage as my paranoia overcame the drunkenness of the evening before. As the cart pulled up beside me I took my eyes off of my Hustler magazine (not so much about Hustling for those of you who aren't avid readers) and who would have thought that on the same flight there'd be two impersonators?! The second one had a big friendly face, an enviable mustache, the staunch smell of 3 day old vodka emanating from his entire body (I know from experience... Professional research during my graduate studies I assure you), and was speaking to me completely in Russian. "пить водку" which from my time in Moscow means "drink vodka." So I did. That's when my memory gets a little fuzzy. Though to this day on my childhood dog's, rest your beautiful soul weenie, backyard grave I swear he told me to call him Comrade Stalin.
I exited the plane stumbling between the aisles I gave comrade Stalin a sloppy high five. The Michael Jackson impersonator met me at the door. He opened his arms for a hug and I willingly accepted his invitation. As we embraced he whispered into my ear, "Both Stalin and I are not impersonators. We're immortals and currently in the witness protection program on the run from Connor MacLeod. If you tell anyone about us we'll gut you like a porcupine." Then he loosened his embrace looked me in the eyes and shouted, "THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE! By the way.. THIS IS OAKLAND!" In an instant he had drop kicked me through the door and onto the tarmac.
Now here I am scared they are redditers. But secretly hoping they will make me immortal. By the way if you need your pet rock appraised you can reach me here

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