Crossword? Check. iPod? Check. Seat belt? Check.
That’s it, I’m ready to fly when onto the plane embarks a squadron of Jewish youths. Now being Jewish myself, I am normally somewhat excited being around a lot of other Jews. Since I no longer go to synagogue or live in an especially Jewish area, rare occasions like this are often somewhat comforting, and dare I say, inspiring. But on this day, comfort was not to be had.
Apparently, these kids were returning from a trip to Israel, where apparently they left behind any sense of politeness and decency. From the second they got on they were cackling like a herd of wounded jackals, squawking with the intensity of a thousand pregnant geese. Their blatant disregard for the other people on the plane was absolutely appalling. No sweat, I figured. I would just take solace in the melodic well-wishings of my iPod. Yet, it was not to be. Despite my having fully charged the thing a few days earlier, and not having used it at all, it was dead, along with my hopes of a peaceful flight.
The next loud guffaw I heard come from behind me, I sprang up like a cheetah, landing a swift roundhouse kick to the lower jaw of one boy, aged 13, his Spongebob yarmulke spinning off into the closed door of an overhead bin. Two girls quickly moved to take me down, but unfortunately for them I had back-pocketed an airline safety pamphlet, which I expertly used to expediently slice both of their throats.
By this point, the whole congregation was converging upon me. Slipping in the pool of blood, I found myself belly-up, lying in an emergency exit row. Thank goodness for that extra leg room, or I never would have had enough space to take off my shoe and bludgeon one of them square in the nose, just before he was able to make some reference to Elijah taking my seat while I was gone. With his stereotypically large nose shattered before I him, I took the boy and used him as a shield, as the others attempted to wound me with flicked bobby pins and AK-47’s which they had snuck on board.
Most of the other passengers had their heads down by this point, which allowed me to expertly run across the seat tops on my way into first class, pulling the curtain shut just in time to deflect a small missile which they had launched using an oxygen mask as a propulsion tank. I made my way to the front and assembled a small bomb using Jack Daniels, an airline blanket and the fury of a Thundercat. Dislodging the microwave, I placed the bomb inside, hooked it up to a generator, and rolled it down the aisle, perfectly timed to explode between the 7th and 10th rows. I was thwarted when one of the squirrelly rascals sacrificed herself by jumping on top of it, absorbing the blast in a feat of martyrdom.
With only an hour and a half left on the flight, I would have to make my move quickly. I found a baggy of non-Kosher pretzels which I crushed into a fine powder. Employing the help of the pilots, I was able to mix this in with a marginal amount of engine fluid, which I then let cook over a small flame for twenty-five minutes, catching the evaporated gas in a series of oddly sized vials. With the captured gas in hand I strutted my way down the aisle to meet face-to-face with the ruffians. Locked in eye to eye I delivered the witty and pungent tag line, “Go ahead, make my Jew.” Then I smashed the vials at their feet rendering them paralyzed from the waist up. Then I did the crossword puzzle and got to drink a whole can of Pepsi.