The Airport

I only love one thing more than the colors red,white and blue: the way they seamlessly mesh together on Uncle Sam's hat. And because I love my country so goddamn much, I couldn't stand idly by when the man on that iconic poster called for me. Personally, I don't think it was random. I think he knew I had something special; a talent that no one else has the balls to even consider employing. It is why on that fateful day in the airport, Sammy's seductive finger-pointing pushed me to "drop bombs" of my own on that Muhammad character.

In the midst of listening to some cunt-bag trying to tell me I've been bumped from first class due to a previous incident, I spotted a turban from afar. At first I thought nothing of it, thinking that maybe they let those camel-humpers fly now.  But while I was softly telling the bitch that if there was no way I could somehow wiggle my way into first class, then I would have to "wiggle" the 15 inch pole she'd soon find shoved up her asshole-I noticed the sandlover engaging in some dubious behavior. From my view, it appeared he was wrapping wire around two medal rods. So I told little Ms. All-That I'd be back in a jif, and let my instincts take over.

With zero time to act, I quickly grabbed the gallon of milk I keep handy for emergency situations, chugged it, and bolted to go confront the fucker. When I got closer, however, things became a bit more eerie. What I thought were metal rods and wire at first, was actually woolen yarn and two, sharp, pointy sticks- obviously a newly developed device used to choke and stab someone simultaneously. And, with adrenaline pumping and emotions running wild, I threw Aladdin out of his chair and pinned him to the ground.

"Did you honestly think you would get away with this you fucking scumbag?" I asked bombastically,"You think no one would see your nifty little gadget? Huh? And because of your shenanigans, this is what's going to happen: I'm going to terrorize your freedom-hating face before you terrorize my liberty-loving country. Yeah, how's that sound bitch!?"

And just as sand-for-cum started saying something about knitting grandma a sweater-probably some Al-Qaeda abort mission code-I swiftly spun around and spewed colon-prepared Ovaltine on every inch of his already-brown face. Passed out from my poison, I turned around, leaned over and cunningly whispered, "When my country calls upon me for 'doodie', I always respond."