CHICAGO AIRPORT

Welcome To Kurt's Controversy Central Section

CHICAGO AIRPORT
(Or An Ode To Jerry Springer's Studio Audience & Guests!)
by Kurt Saxon

I'm a pilot. I've flown out of nearly every airport in the country. I must have at least thirty sets of I.D.s. You see, I have this drinking problem. My friends call me "Lucky". I've walked away from several fatal crashes. When I get fired from one airline I just go to another.

I practically live in airports. You can learn a lot about a city by its airport. I remember last April when I was in the Washington, D.C. airport. There was this black hotdog vendor yelling, "Chandra hotdogs. Get your Chandra hotdogs right here".

Now I was in this Chicago airport looking for the employment office. I was in the Information line behind this woman who was crying and complaining. "I've lost my carryon luggage. All my cash was there. I've got nothing".

The man in the booth told her, "You're not a bad-looking piece. Just stand on any corner tonight and earn it all back. You do know how to give oral sex, don't you? Now move along. Next".

I stepped up and asked him where the employment office was. He pointed to a corridor and said, "Just past that bunch of whores in the stewardess uniforms and to your left".

I found my way to the employment office. Over the door was a sign, FLY MIRACLE AIRLINES. If you get where you're going in comfort and safety, it's a MIRACLE".

I pushed open the door and faced the personnel manager. He waved me to a seat and asked, "Are you sexually attracted to me?"

I replied, simply, "No Sir". He then said, "but maybe if I changed my hair-do, parted it on the right, maybe letting a lock of hair fall over my eye?"

I then said, "I'm not gay, Sir", to which he replied, "I'm not interested in your emotional state. But let's get on with it. Can you fly?"

I said "Yes". He then accepted my latest documents and continued, "Looks fine to me. But can you control that plane under all conditions, like when your co-pilot fondles your genetalia?"

I replied that I had to draw the line there and he said, "Well, we do have one straight co-pilot and as luck would have it you'll be piloting the next plane out. "It's co-piloted by Reginald 'Strongheart' Jones. He has his problems, but don't we all?", he finished, laughing uproariously.

I took the flight plan he gave me and headed for gate 11-A. On the way I saw Laura Bush, the president's wife, surrounded by a group of badly dressed people who had just cornered her.

One asked, loudly, "Say, Laura, how do you like being First Bitch?" Before she could respond, another shouted, "Laura, did you marry George because you were so into anal sex?. This was rapidly followed by the question, "Does George often wake up screaming?"

Frustrated and angry, Laura asked, "What kind of questions are those? What kind of reporters are you?"

One of the questioners answered, "We're not reporters. We were today's audience on the Jerry Springer Show". Laura forced the hand of a man from beneath her skirt and rushed away.

I continued on to gate 11-A after drawing my uniform from the ward room. The corridor leading to the plane was crowded with a mass of berserk passengers, forced along by security guards best described as herdsmen, herding a flock of diseased sheep.

They were obvious sex deviates of every stripe and assorted crazies. As the mob of wretched refuse was pushed along the corridor like excrement in the lower intestine, some were punched and dragged by security guards.

When a security guard reeled back after a blow to the face, I stopped him and asked for an explanation. He said, "Every day it's like this. I'm gonna quit. I'm a security guard, not a garbage man. These were today's guests on the Jerry Springer show".

I was really upset by all these vermin being loaded aboard the plane I was about to fly. I said, "I thought Jerry's guests went home on different planes to different places. And I didn't know there were so many on one show".

He then said, "Well, Jerry tapes several shows in one day. Sure, they came here from different places, like several toilets being emptied into one septic tank. But Jerry figured it would be cheaper to charter planes and send them all back to one place with an airport near a trailer park. These people are so crazy that any trailer park is the same as the one they left.

"This load is going to Arkansas, which is already swamped with morons and degenerates. A few planeloads more won't be noticed".

I left him and elbowed my way through the swirling mob of sub-humans on my way to the cockpit. When I got there I met Reginald, my co-pilot. He was hunched in his seat biting his knuckles and weeping bitterly. I asked him what was wrong and he said, "I can't stand flying. I just go all to pieces. I'm sorry".

I said, "You mean you're a co-pilot and you're afraid of flying?"

He answered, "No, I'm not afraid of flying, you fool, I'm afraid of crashing. I was in a crash three years ago and I can't get over it. But being a co-pilot is all I know".

I told him he was some kind of chicken. I had been in a dozen crashes, all when I was piloting the plane. Crashes didn't bother me. I thought that would reassure him but he just began to scream hysterically so I had to slap him until he relaxed, sort of unconcious.

As soon as we got the go-ahead from the tower I took off. I wanted to get rid of this load of garbage as soon as possible.

It wasn't but a few minutes since we were airborne when our single stewardess broke into the cockpit. She was adding her own screams to those of the co-pilot, who had come to and became unglued all over again.

Wendy had her hair all frizzled and she was wearing nothing but her skimpies. She was pretty hysterical but I could make out that she couldn't get our passengers buckled up and they were fighting and totally out of control. The plane was actually shuddering from the rioting in the cabin and she wanted me to go back there and do something. Like hell. I wasn't going back there, at least not until I finished this pint.

But then I had an idea and I told her to go back to the nearest seat and buckle up. I remembered a movie where an engine was on fire and the pilot took the plane into a steep dive, which put the fire out.

I took the plane up in a steep climb to about forty thousand feet. As we rose, the co-pilot began to whimper and cry like a baby. I didn't know why as I hadn't told him of my plan.

When we got as high as the plane would go, I turned her nose down in a steep dive which would have been envied by any dive-bomber pilot. At this, my co-pilot began screaming in a new frequency and panicked. He wanted out of the plane and he unbuckled and rose out of his seat and drifted back to the cockpit door.

When we were a few hundred feet from the ground I leveled her off and the co-pilot fell to the floor unconscious. I then took the plane back up to thirty thousand feet and leveled her off. The stewardess then came back into the cockpit, laughing and crying at the same time.

She said, "Now, that was a ride. We've got some broken bones back there but some of those idiots were actually trying to mate in free fall".

We flew on level for about a hundred miles and Wendy came back and helped me put the co-pilot back into his seat and strap him in. He responded with a simple, "Thanks".

After just a short time Wendy re-entered the cockpit and told me they were at it again, as bad as ever. I told her to go back and buckle up as before.

I nosed the plane up again as the co-pilot settled for chewing his fingernails and squealing. As we nosed down again, he began to sing, at the top of his voice, "Nearer My God To Thee".

As I leveled off again just over the Arkansas border our plane was attacked by a fighter jet but we weren't fired on. As I went back up to cruising height the jet's pilot flew alongside and motioned for me to put on my ear phones. I activated the radio and heard him yelling, "Hey, y'all, this here's the Arkansas Air National Guard. You're doing some mighty erotic maneuvers over Arkansas air space. You just stop that or I'll shoot you the hell down".

Well, I wasn't going to let some red-neck hillbilly son of a bitch give me orders. I meant to show him. Up again I went and as I got level I saw ahead the airport I was heading for. I nosed down and throttled forward as fast as she would go. The co-pilot passed out and everything loose in the cockpit floated up and the jet dropped behind me and opened fire,

I knew fighter tactics and so swerved from side to side, which caused the bullets to miss, but the wings were cracking and about to come off. Luck was with me, though. I leveled off for the approach and made a perfect three-point landing on the runway just as the left wing came off, causing the plane to swerve and nose into the airport lobby. Lots of broken glass but no one hurt.

When I got out after the passengers who could walk, I was met by a sheriff with handcuffs ready. As he took me to the patrol car he said, "Your flying days are over. We're going to tear up your license and burn the pieces".

That didn't worry me. Anyone can get a pilot's license. I would as soon as I got out of jail. I'm a pilot. That's what I do.

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