Letters To Friends

Letters To Friends


You’re probably wondering why I wasn’t at our wedding. I’m so sorry. It’s hard to explain, but here is my story.

I was at work, you know me, the pilot. I was flying a plane from Phoenix, AZ to Chicago, IL, a lean night. My co-pilot that night seemed particularly strange, but I couldn’t quite put my fingers all over it. He was wearing some dope sunglasses and an enormous pilot outfit. Not much of a chatter bug. He was more like a bug who couldn’t talk.

Take off was smooth; I remembered to turn the plane on this time. Then the flight started getting pretty whacky. Like, Halloween type whacky. We had been flying for about 10 minutes when I noticed we had reached a comfortable cruising altitude of 100,000 feet. Which is an absurd height for a plane to be flying at.

It had appeared that my co-pilot was actually asleep under those dope sunglasses, and let the plane float into the sky. “Stay calm Brian”, is what I wrote in my stress journal.

Then the stewardess came into the cockpit. (Do you think it’s funny we still call it a cockpit? Like chickens and shit?)

The stewardess told me about the meal specials for tonight. They were serving a chicken dinner with vegetables, a steamed fishmeal with French fries, and a big ass butt burger with some skittles and booger soup. “That’s no soup I’ve ever heard of. But I’ll try anything once”, is what I wrote in my stress journal.

Then my co-pilot started to scare me. Like Halloween scare me. He was moving as though he were drunk out of his brain. He then pretended to fire off what he believed to be the plane’s missiles. In actuality, he just turned off two of the plane’s engines. And you know me, if ground control finds out I turned off some of the engines mid flight again, they’ll eat my butt.

Once I got the engines up and running, the plane was finally at a comfortable cruising altitude of 80,000 feet. Which is still way too high for a plane to be flying.

While trying to lower the plane, I noticed that it’s coordinates were actually set for “Captain Planet’s House” and not the original plan of Chicago, IL. “Something’s up”, is what I wrote on my hand. (I couldn’t seem to find my stress journal.)

I tried to confront my co-pilot about it, but he just told me that he had to poop and he stood up awkwardly. Then, he stepped on a loose fire truck toy on the ground, sending him around and around the room in large circles. When he finally toppled to the ground, a large child fell out of his butt. Followed by another child out of his shoulders.

That’s when it hit me. “The stewardess, the pilot, the coordinates, the oven.” By the way, please remember to turn off the oven Maureen, I left it running. Thanks. “All these things are leading me to the conclusion, the plane has been hijacked by children.” Is what I said out loud. (For some reason I couldn’t find my hand.) I guess I said it too loud, loud enough to be thrown to the ground by a bunch of kids.

It was too late for me. I had been captured. I am currently tied to a chair with jump ropes and red vines. I attempted to eat my way out, but I just ended up eating a ton of jump rope.

No one is hurt, although the tall kid did shove a Kit-Kat bar up my ass. That was about 10 minutes ago, and I can feel the chocolate running down my leg now.

The children would like me to send you this list of demands.

-20 packs of Dunkaroos
-A case of Surge
-Some Butterfinger BB’s
-Dannon Sprinklin’s yogurt
-Crystal Pepsi
-Kettle Corn
-Crazy Pizza
-A bunch of blankets & comfy pillows
-And the movie Homeward Bound.

Please send these goodies ASAP. I’m not fucking around here Maureen. I need them now!

Don’t worry about me though. These kids and I are just having a movie night. I’ll tuck them in after the movie and send them home in the morning. They’ve had a big day of kidnapping. Bunch of cuties.

This experience has really made me think more about that ridiculous thing you said about wanting to have kids.

I love you. Be home soon.

☺ BriGuy ☺