People seem to have a lot of trouble on airlines these days. I don’t get it.
I think problems mostly arise because travelers have an outdated version of what it means to travel by airplane. Americans are especially prone to misapprehensions about flying from here to there. I think it’s because they’ve seen too many Doris Day movies where the svelte stewardess, wearing a pillbox hat, pumps, and a matching Jackie O skirt and tunic mixes you a gin and tonic while you pick out your meal from a giant restaurant menu. It hasn’t been like that for fifty years or more, but we can’t get it out of our heads.
Even before the airport experience morphed into a pantomime of an arrest, complete with cavity searches for grandmas and toddlers alike, flying was still pretty inelegant, if you ask me. I flew in Europe a couple of times, and all the stewardesses looked like sexy Bond villains, but the planes sounded like they were built in the Soviet bloc, and there were too many bolts showing inside the cabin for my taste. In America, the planes were better, but even the hot stewardesses looked more like Rose Marie than Honor Blackman.
My name is Max Power, and if you study with my eight-week program you will learn a system of pleasing all the ladies that I developed over two seasons of making hot chicks teeter on the edge of hysteria. It’s called Max Power Kwon Do! After one week with me in my eight-week program, you’ll be prepared to defend your airspace with the strength of a grizzly, the reflexes of a puma, and the wisdom of a man.
My name is Dillon, and if you study with my eight-week program you will learn a system of picking up chick that I developed over two seasons of flying over California. It’s called Dillon Kwon Do! After one week with me in my eight-week program, you’ll be prepared to fly with the strength of an osprey, the reflexes of a cockatoo, and the wisdom of a man.
This might be a surprise to many of you, but I don’t do well on flights. Overall, I’d say my whole relationship with flying is on the rocks. I’m not afraid of heights, or anything like that. While flying at 30,000 feet in a sealed metal tube might not sound like a picnic, I’m not overly concerned about the heights. The TSA doesn’t bother me very much, either. I’m not a fan of the constant cavity searches, but that’s not where I hide my drugs, so it’s never been a problem. All the stories I hear from my friends are what really turn me off to plane travel.
I’ve done some extensive studies on how to pick up women, and my findings are exactly what you’d expect. If you’re a fighter pilot, test pilot, or stunt pilot, you’re 100 percent more likely to attract women than an accountant. Musicians, Olympic athletes, pirate-ship captains, and underwear models can’t compare to test pilots. The only people who come close are billionaires, but they don’t count. I’d become a pilot, but my ears go pop whenever I walk up the stairs, so that’s out of the question. Luckily, I’m devilishly handsome, which is enough to pick up grounded chicks. I’m not that into flighty girls to begin with, so it’s a win-win situation for me.
Some fools might claim that the best way to pick up women is to talk to them and take an interest in what they have to say, but they’re dead wrong. Women don’t want men with money either. Having money is a definite perk, but it’s not a deciding factor. What women really want are complete psychopaths — who smell good. If you’re a test pilot, or a musician, or an international man of mystery there’s obviously something deeply wrong with you and women are immensely attracted to that. They want to cradle your little psycho head in their arms while you froth at the mouth and shake violently. I don’t know what it is that makes women want men with deep-rooted issues, but it’s given me a steady stream of girlfriends, so I’m happy with the arrangement.
Of course, they all leave as soon as they figure out that I’m just a tremendous arsehole and there’s nothing actually wrong with me.