mynutsitch.com

Dear pilots,

PS…if you’re reading this while flying please stop and focus on not crashing.

Seriously guys, I know you’re pretty good at the whole flying thing. Thousands of aircraft take off and land safely every day.

But it’s that time of year again…the air show is in town.

You guys aren’t transporting people or goods anywhere, you aren’t surveying the traffic situation for the local news, and you certainly aren’t on a mission to blow up terrorists.

You’re taking to the skies, essentially, with the goal of NOT CRASHING.

You practice not crashing quite a bit, and chances are if you’re still flying you’ve probably been quite successful. Let’s keep it that way, OK?

The fact that I moved into a house that’s only a couple miles from the airport and apparently live directly below one of your favorite approach paths to said airport has nothing to do with this blog.

Oh wait, never mind. It has EVERYTHING to do with this blog. The last few days you guys (mostly you pesky little Blue Angel bastards) have been practicing not crashing directly above my goddamn house. The first time you buzzed about 300 feet over my roof I just about shit my pants, but then it was pretty damn cool. By the time we got to take 15 it was getting a little old (the novelty of the situation, not the shit in my pants).

At this point I couldn’t care less if you decided to crash. Go for it. Just aim for someone else’s house like last year, please. How about that neighbor of mine who has the Hummer and the 5-series who likes to park them in front of my house? I’m pretty sure nobody would miss him except for whoever loaned him the money for that stuff.

Hell, aim for that house full of kids down the street so I can run down there and (pretend to) play hero. It would be a nice change to have someone literate interviewed on the news.

I’m going to go take a shower so I can drag my grumpy ass over to the doctor’s office before they close. I swear to God if you crash into my house you’ll regret it.

Not because you’ll probably die, and not because you will have failed at not crashing, but because I’ll make sure to drag my nearly lifeless body through the wreckage to find you. I don’t care if I barely have the strength to take in one last breath, I’ll muster up more. I will find you, I will resuscitate you if necessary, and then I will shit on your chest and then watch you die.

Because if there’s anything worse than dying after crashing your plane into someone’s house, it’s crashing your plane into someone’s house, dying, being resuscitated by the occupant of said house, and then dying again knowing that a large man with Taco Bell induced diarrhea spraying the contents of his bowels on your chest is the last thing you’ll ever see.

Blue Angels over my house (not nearly as low as they have been, just the best video I was able to get)