From the moment that I got off of the plane here, I could tell that I was no longer in the land of my forefathers. I towered over most of the natives, who scurried about me on unknown and unspeakable errands, whispering in their alien tongues and pushing past me with fearful abandon. Some gazed at me with looks of commingled wonder and fear, aghast that an outsider such as myself should tread upon their native soil. As I trod down the concourse, I passed all manner of shops, where ill-favored vendors hawked curious wares both mundane and exotic. It as, in every sense, a place utterly unlike
It was indeed a place infinitely more exotic and strange than I had ever imagined, with sidewalks that move of their own soulless volition (and which I seem to be constitutionally incapable of getting onto without falling over like a one-legged sumo wrestler on a trampoline). At length, I found my way to the President’s Club, and since he wasn’t using it at the moment, I picked it up and delivered a vigorous beatdown to a number of the local baby seals. Just kidding of course; there aren’t any baby seals in
Finally, I found my way to yet another President’s Club, which, by virtue of being on the second floor, had culled from the masses those too portly or vulnerable to nosebleeds to make the ascent. It was much nicer there, leading me to suspect that the first one was actually the Vice President’s Club or some such thing, in which I case I would exhort the venerable and badass Mr. Cheney to hold his company to somewhat higher standards. While here, I had a most excellent view of what I am almost positive was
Also in the President’s Club, I discovered a thing unlike any other of which I have ever even conceived of – a black urinal. Seriously, you know how black computers and basketball players are just ineffably and invariably cooler that your usual beige ones? Well it turns out that the rule holds true for urinals too. It was seriously like some kind of weird 2001: A Space Odyssey urinal; if I was a monkey man I would have invented fire right there in front of it.
So, after walking past about 173 portable defibrillators and a McDonalds with the giant severed torso of Ronald McDonald on it doing that whole Last Supper Big Arms Thing, I finally made it to the right gateway with time to spare. Now, having learned from movies that any time you’re in an airport and there’s a TV there, whatever they’re talking about on the news is pretty much guaranteed to directly affect the course of your life. Operating under the reasonable assumption that this is true, I expect to shortly be nominated for the Supreme Court, take part in a Lakers game, and save up to 15% on car insurance by witching to Geico.
My plane (not that it’s really my plane, mind you, you can’t really own a plane like that, they’re like the wind) was already waiting there for me, with the added touch that they painted little swirly things on the jet turbines so that if you watched them long enough, you probably get hypnotized or start understanding the Metric system or some other horrible thing. Also, the plane has windshield wipers, which strikes me as a wise precaution, since I imagine that if you were ever to hit a junebug at 500 mph, it could get a tad messy.
Finally, while I was waiting there, the PA system would occasionally announce something very important-sounding in Chinese, at which point all of the Chinese folks waiting for the plane would get up and move around very purposefully, leaving me more confused then that time I tried to have that debate concerning the relative merits of Intelligent Design with a drunken mariachi band.
