The plane truth

The airlines have collectively hemorrhaged $30 billion over the last 25 years or so.  Anybody who's owned an airline stock has had their portfolio “made love to” in the pooper by a man endowed like a 747.  Airline stocks always nose-diving because airlines can't etch out profits unless Uncle Sugar sends them a check.

Consequently, airlines are constantly trying to save money.  They cut meal service.  They cut employee salaries.  They cut numbers of flights and destinations -- whatever they can trim, they trim.  Even peanuts and pillows are on the chopping block.  But they never cut the stewardesses, and I have to wonder why.  Can't they just install a soda fountain and a vending machine in front of the emergency exit?  When you board the plane, you'd stop at the soda fountain, pour yourself a cold one and grab a bag of nuts.  Maybe they could even have a slushy machine.  Who knows?  The point is, if airlines installed a soda fountain and a vending machine into the planes, they could kick the stewardesses into the jet stream.

This would save the airlines millions.  What does your average plane stooge make per year?  About as much as a teacher, plus benefits.  Carrying at least 2 stewardesses, each plane costs the airlines about $100 grand per year.  That's real savings, people.  Remember the plane that had its roof ripped off in mid-flight?  Many saw that as a tragedy.  But it saved the airlines 100 grand when the 2 stewardesses flew out of the opening.  The airlines, of course, pass those savings on to us.  Cha-ching!  Flight attendants are always striking anyway, in this case, the ground (rimshot!).

Many of you are probably thinking, But LBB, who's going to instruct us how to use the seatbelt, oxygen masks and flotation devices in the event of an emergency.  I've already thought of that.  Just put the information on a pamphlet.  Then give all the passengers the pamphlet.  Everything you need to know that's really important would be on the pamphlet.  Pamphlets are effective teachers.  I learned about puberty, pregnancy, peer pressure, STDs, drugs and alcohol, homosexuality and suicide prevention on pamphlets.  And I'm happy to report that I've avoided most of these pitfalls in my life thanks to the information on those pamphlets.  All the important lessons in life are printed on pamphlets.

Incidentally, I peeked in the cockpit on my last flight and I saw the pilot reading a pamphlet.  It was titled “How to Execute an Emergency Landing While Minimizing Casualties.”  I was delighted to see the pilot freshening up his skills during the flight.  I never slept so soundly on a plane before.

Soda fountains, vending machines and pamphlets -- an idea that can save the airline industry.


You ask LBB, you get it.

Look at me!  I'm doing another blog meme.  Ordinarily I'd hate myself.  But the source of this meme is so hip and cool and whatnot that I can't resist the temptation.  Why should I?  It just makes me a member of the Cool Club.  RHOK 4-ever, yo!

Today's questions are the brainchild of Seriously Shawn.  And you should take them as seriously as Shawn, herself.  Seriously.

1.} What must you do before you go to bed at night?
2.} What is one thing you must snack on at the theater?
3.} Before going on vacation what must you do?
4.} What is one thing you must do every day?
5.} Is there something you do that must be done in a particular order?

1) Before bed:  I must inspect under bed and in closet for monsters, wraiths, apparitions, harpies, demons and other undesirables.  Also I must employ interdental brush, Oral-B plaque remover and antiseptic mouthwash to maintain healthy teeth and gums.  Also load my Droid with the latest Dennis Miller podcast so I can fall asleep while laughing and growing all the wiser.

2) Movie snack:  The wife's earlobes.  Sometimes I do that after eating a box of DOTS and make them all sticky.  

3) Before vacation:  Pack a different color Speedo for each day at the pool/beach.  Also, forward my phone calls to 800-GO-SCREW.  

4) Must do every day:  Read RHOK.  Drink Diet Coke.  Exercise.  Upload encrypted message confirming that I'm still alive so that SEAL Team Bravo doesn't execute Operation Charleston.  Don't ask questions.

5) Particular order:  I MUST use my electric shaver before using a blade.  Otherwise my shave is torture.  If I do a once-over with the electric, then reconnoiter my jaw with the blade, things work out A-OK.  Finally, I rub my chin, nod approvingly and smirk with an air of machismo like the sexy hunks in the shaving commercials do.  Gillette -- because you're all man, all the time!  Incidentally, what's with those guys in the razor commercials?  They act so high and mighty.  So you're the cock of the walk, huh?  Dude, you shaved your face.  You didn't cure cancer.  Stop looking so pleased with yourself.  Smug a-hole.  Congratulations, you did what every 13-year-old boy learns to do in about 5 minutes.  Stop admiring yourself in the mirror like you have a Porsche and a 10-inch knob under the towel.  Fag.



I’m not a man of moderation.  Admittedly, most things I do come out mediocre.  But when it comes to remedies and indulgences, I like going to the extreme.  I enjoy overdoing things.  Especially when I’m deprived for a while, I like a double portion of what I lack.  It’s so satisfying.  I figure anything worth doing is worth overdoing.

Take, for example, chapped lips.  Living in the desert, I sometimes suffer from chapped lips, which often strike when lip balm isn’t handy.  I have to wait until I hit the drugstore for relief.  So once I get my hands on some lip balm, I drown my lips in it.  I want that life-giving moisture to soak in and saturate my lips.  Then I want a cake of balm plastered to my lips, at the ready, in case the first layer needs reinforcement.  When I get done applying lip balm, I look like I gave a blowjob to a candle factory.

The same thing goes with food.  I don’t eat like a normal, healthy person.  Most people respond to pangs of hunger by eating a sensible meal.  I don’t.  I continue to fast.  Occasionally I’ll exacerbate my hunger with exercise, watching the Food Network, or ganja.  I wait until I’m so hungry, the thought of a tofu hotdog served on a naked Bea Arthur is appetizing.  Then, when I can’t wait moment longer, I’ll throw together a meal worthy of Henry the VIII.  As I jackhammer food down my gullet, I imagine myself “killing” my hunger.  It feels great.  Nothing satisfies like a bout of gluttony after fasting for 16 hours.

I rummage for those foods highest in calories.  Sometimes when I’m food-deprived, I’ll fantasize about foods that don’t exist in the real world, but only in a theoretical culinary plane where foods boast the highest calorie density in the universe -- something in the way of a bacon-wrapped cheesecake, or beef brisket served between two fried Twinkies, or prosciutto ham that squirts out of a Cheeze-Whiz can.  Hunger transforms me into a culinary mad scientist.

I also like overcorrecting with climate.  Even in the desert, winters can be cold, especially when you insist on wearing shorts and sandals year-round.  I’ll spend a few minutes outdoors, in the cold, knocking back a Circle-K Thristbuster.  Once I’m frozen to the bones and my beanbag is cinched up like rawhide, I head for my gymnasium, which has a sauna.  I’m so cold, all can think about is the 170-degree closet.  I strip down, hop in, and relax for about 7 hours, until I overheat.  Sometimes I hallucinate like an Indian on the high planes.  I have visions in which I’m a half-wolf hybrid or something.  I always come to once I exit the sauna and resume normal body temperature.  But while I’m overheating, I relish in overcorrecting what ailed me -- the cold.  But now I’m hot.  My skin is red.  My heart is pounding.  I’ve sweat about 40% of my bodyweight out my pores.  When I walk out of the sauna, I look like freakin’ Ghandi, or an extra fromSchindler’s List.

The nice thing about the sauna is, I dehydrate.  This leads me to my next overcorrection – quenching thirst.  Nothing beats going into hypovolemic shock from the sauna and then cruising to Circle-K for a Thirstbuster of diet soda.  Say there, my good man.  If I by one of those gas cans, can I fill it with Dr. Pepper at the soda fountain?  Money is no object.  No joke – I typically gain 5 pounds per day from drinking so much diet soda, only to urinate it off during the night.  My kidneys appreciate the extra business.

I enjoy oversleeping, too.  Everybody’s had a string of days (or weeks!) where they’ve gone with less than enough sleep.  It’s a cumulative effect.  Eventually, you’re a zombie.  When I find myself in this state, I like to convert a day off of work into a daylong slumber.  Sure, I’ll awake after 8 or 9 hours.  And often I’m well rested.  But I’m just getting started.  I coax myself back to sleep.  While the rest of the world tackles the workaday, I’m deliriously comatose.  Sometime in the late afternoon or early evening I’ll awake.  My limbs are numb.  I can’t think.  I have a bad case of “pillow-face,” and I struggle for about 40 minutes remembering what day it is and whether I’ve missed any appointments.  Is the rent due?  Do I still have my job?  Who’s the president nowadays?  Is this a sunset or a sunrise?  I don’t know!  Where’s my compass?

After a 17-hour nap, I don’t recognize my universe or myself.  That’s how I know I’ve done it right.

Other ways in which I overcorrect:

*Racing my car after clearing a traffic accident.  I figure I’ve got the right to speed until such time that my average velocity rises to that of the posted limit on the highway.

*Taking a long, hot shower after shopping at WalMart.

*When I have a cold and I’m chronically congested, I’ll sniff a little Drain-o.  Not enough to kill me, just enough to bore through the snot.

*Double-killing insects that have been bothering me. Sometimes, after spraying the insect with poison, I’ll step on him. Sure, he’s already dead. But I want to hear a crunch.


I'll dip a toe in the water

I just realized I'm a blogging snob.  I've been posting for years and I always write what I damn-well please.  I also read the work of many great bloggers.  But I never participate.  The memes and the linky things and the tag-you're-it stuff -- I've peered down my nose at it.  I'm not going to let The Man tell whitey what to write.  That, and also I lack the technical savvy to post pictures and link stuff and edit video and whatnot.

But I can hop off my high horse once in a while.  I've just read two of the most charming bloggers in da 'sphere, yo:  Shawn and IA.  They've invited their readers to join in the fun, namely, We Want to Know Wednesday.  It's a questionnaire that you post and somehow link to their Snoop Bloggy Blogs.  I'm not sure how it works just yet, but I'm going to hook my thumb on the panties and see if the ass lifts up, so to speak.  Let's see what's shaking.

Amendment:  Shout-out to Mamarazzi.  WWKW is her brainchild.

We Want to Know Wednesday (#5)

{1} If you could choose a Super Power, what would it be?
{2} What would be your first frivolous purchase if you were awarded a million dollars tomorrow?
{3} What would be the hardest current luxury for you to give up?
{4} If you were given a choice between being given great wisdom and great wealth, which would you choose?
{5} If you were to be stranded on a deserted island for 100 days what 5 THINGS would you pack?


1)  Super power -- The power to induce common sense in those who lack it or disregard it.  Think Professor Xavier from the X-Men, only I exact telepathic influence on nitwits to be reasonable with decision-making and to behave rationally.  And also, throw in a pair of Wolverine claws so's I can gets me 'da ladies!

2)  Frivolous purchase -- I always wanted one of those robot sweeper/vacuums.  I'd also hire a bodyguard because after an electrical disturbance, the thing might malfunction an kill me in my sleep.  Spotless floors and a good night's rest.  I'm one step ahead of you, you little Roomba Robot bastard.

3)  Luxury item -- The ability to sleep as late as I please on most days.  I work weekends.  Monday through Friday, I wake up when I want to, not when I have to.  

4)  Wisdom or wealth -- Wisdom.  You can be happy without money.  But you can't be happy without being wise.  

5)  What 5 things to pack... 
  • A grooming kit
  • My life-sized cardboard cutout of Edward Cullen (Team Edward 4-ever!)
  • A bottle of Ten High
  • A manservant with wildlife survival skills and who's 100% not gay at all
  • A trunk of fireworks for pig roast banquet festivities 



  • Just thought of a new accomplishment for the Dos Equis guy:  "Although he prefers beer, he can make a wonderful bathtub margarita by showering with the drain plugged."
  • Why can't you have your cake and eat it, too?  Isn't having it a prerequisite?  You have to HAVE it first before you can eat it.  Last night I ATE pizza because that's what I HAD for dinner.  I don't want to get into a semantic argument.  I just want my cliches to make sense.  And also, you don't "get what you pay for."  If that were true, nobody would get ripped off!
  • I wish eating burned more calories.  In my world, chewing would burn 80% of the food's calories, and swallowing would burn the other 20.  So by the time you burned a few more calories straining on the crapper, you'd be losing weight!  Now you're in Flavor Country!
  • Like all fathers, I want my little girl to remain virtuous now that adolescence has arrived.  But I'm not the shotgun father type.  No lectures or threats.  Instead, I've nailed 5x7 pictures of all her dead relatives on the ceiling, over her bed.  Work smarter, not harder!
  • Speaking of beers, have you tried a Navy Seal Beer?  It's just regular beer served in a mug, but you have to blow the head off, first.  Rimshot!
  • Sometimes I think "'til DEBT do us part" would be a better wedding vow.
  • Headline: "Wife sues husband for $12 million for not having sex with her."  Man, what a great pick-up line this guy has:  "Hey, the last woman I stopped having sex with needs 12 million dollars just to feel whole again."
  • Headline: "Man dressed as cow steals 26 gallons of milk..."  Bull dressed as self mounts man dressed as cow; man hospitalized in colo-rectal ward.
  • Headline: "Man caught peeing on cough drops in drug store."  Later told authorities he was confused by instructions to "moisten lozenge and inhale fumes."
  • Headline:  "Russians deny cosmonauts had sex in space."  However, they did admit to several "solo missions," if you get their drift.
  • Headline: "America's Toughest Sheriff lets public rate mugshots online"... low self-esteem sufferers getting arrested for opportunity to be vindicated with high ratings amid thugs.
  • Headline:  Jail smuggler hid cell phone, an MP3 player, marijuana, tobacco, and $140 in rectum.  Guards became suspicious when prison rape played Beyonce song and dialed local Domino's Pizza.
  • What irony that the latest technological gadget -- the Kindle -- succeeds by resurrecting that hitherto extinct species technology itself killed off, the book reader, Textus Aficionadus.  People are relying on technology to deliver them from a technological age.
  • I saw a bumper sticker that read, "I brake for snakes."  Fair enough.  I wish I had one that read, "I accelerate for a-holes."
  • Forty years in art: "Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play..." to "I used to be commander-in-chief of my pimp ship, flying high..."
  • I've seen the damage drunk-dialing, drunk-texting and drunk-Facebooking can do.  From now on when I get the urge, I'm going to go for a long drive and cool off.
  • I tend to be a victim of my own success -- a risk I side-step by being a total failure.
  • Failed pick-up line #138: "Congratulations. You've met my minimum standards for attractiveness, earning power and social status."
  • Can bouncers telecommute?  "Put that guy on the phone... Yeah, hey pal.  No more booze for you, and I need you to leave quietly.  OK, bro?  Hold on, I've got another call coming in... some dude with a fake I.D."


Everything you always wanted to know but were afraid to ask.

Something puzzling you?  Ask me.  It's an LBB ex machina!  All questions answered in V-Logs next week.  Beware: I'll make you famous (to my 7 readers, anyway).

Looking forward to all your brain-busting questions, fellow bloglidites.


Toy stories

I got to thinking about toys from my childhood.

My all-time favorite toy was the cap gun.  This is how far we've come in a generation.  Nowadays, you can't find a toy gun in a toy store anywhere.  But when I was a kid, the problem with toy guns was, they weren't convincing enough.  So a worker at the toy factory scratched his head and said, "You know, putting fake guns in the hands of children so they can recreate armed robberies, warfare and reenactments of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre is just swell.  The problem is, it's just not real enough.  Gunplay is noisy.  We need our guns to make a bullet-popping sound.  A little gun powder ought to do the trick." 

And so the toy factory began manufacturing caps -- little packets of TNT to prepare junior for the real thing once he hit puberty.  I remember riding my bike to the drug store for my Colombine Starter Kit -- a mock .38 snub-nose and 5 rolls of caps – all for $1.98.  I considered opening the package before I got to the register and jacking the drug store with my new toy gun: "Gimme all your jaw breakers, old man.  And throw in a roll of caps."  But self control got the better of me.  It was that clerk's lucky day.

They also made a cap hand grenade for kids.  I'm not making this up.  The hand grenade was a cast-iron ball with metal fins.  It looked like a miniature smart bomb.  You'd load the breech with a few caps.  Then, you flung it in the air toward a friend.  When the iron ball impacted on the ground, the breech would crush the caps.  Boom!  The only time it failed to detonate was when the iron ball struck kid flesh on account of it couldn't compress with enough impulse.  It did, however, leave a nice bruise and a sub-dural hematoma.

Remember the Speak-n-Spell?  They should have named it "Speak-n-Swear."  This toy could talk (revolutionary toy technology in the 1970s).  First it would ask you to spell a word.  Then it would speak what you typed, and tell you whether it was right or wrong.  For example: "I'm sorry.  F-U-C-K is not the correct spelling of ‘Graveyard.'  Please try again.  I'm sorry.  D-O-U-C-H-E is not the correct spelling of ‘Exercise.'  Please have your mother wash your mouth out with battery acid."  Whoa, watch the attitude, Speak-n-Spell.  I've got a cap grenade that just might have your name on it.

When I wasn't simulating gunplay or spelling curse words, I was usually playing catch with my Pitch-Back.  The Pitch-Back was an ingenious toy that would throw a baseball back at you.  It consisted of an upright aluminum frame and a net with three gradations.  Depending where you hit the Pitch-Back, it would ricochet the ball back at you in a line-drive, pop-fly or grounder. At least that was the theory. In reality, no matter where you hit the Pitch-Back, the evil SOB would whip the thing at your beanbag. Steeeeeeee-rike!

Later designs included the "Bowl-Back." You'd roll a bowling ball at the net.  It would return the ball in the form of a 16-lb. pop-fly-of-death.  This one was real popular with the 37 kids who lived to tell about it.