jetBlow me!

Workplace violence isn't funny. This inherently sucks. When you hear about a pissed off employee running a rampage through his place of former employ, shooting everyone in sight - not only can you not say something hilarious or witty about it, you also tend to get pretty depressed and MAYBE even a bit scared (Carl from accounting has been acting a bit twitch-alicious, hasn't he? Try not to be in his vicinity when the one-cup coffee brewer is on the fritz, or his favorite Caribbean Kahlua flavor is out of stock.)

The term "disgruntled postman" is finally outdated, to the point where folks younger than me regard me with dubious glances when I mention that mailmen going "postal" (where do the youngsters think that term came from??) being the norm.

So imagine my utter glee when I heard about the disgruntled jetBlue flight attendant, fellow gay New Yorker Steven Slater going pleasantly postal in a way that is quite funny in its own way.

This newly crowned Everyman hero did what we've all probably wanted to do in our lives - gave it long and hard (and publicly) to a douchebag. Okay, well the flier that Steven cursed out was a girl - does that make her a Douchebagette? What do you think, X?

But I digress.

The long and short of it:

1. Bitchy McBitcherson the passenger got up out of her seat when the plane was taxiing around the runway of JFK. This is something we all know you shouldn't do. Lord knows we hear it no less than five times on any flight, including from parking lot attendants, baggage carriers, and that vending machine that sells multi-hundred-dollar Best Buy gear (has anyone ever used that thing? Seriously?

2. Steven Slater kindly asked the clueless wankette (who I'll assume had a lot of hairsprayed hair, a small dog in a bag, long ugly painted nails, a dress that's too short, and a cell phone illegally clutched to her ear) to return to her seat.

3. Not only did the bitch goddess not heed Stevey's no-doubt-pleasantly-gay voice, she also went ahead and opened the overhead compartment to take out her stowed luggage (which was no doubt filled with a half-dozen more cell phones that she will forget to shut off in a Broadway theater, bumpers that affix to her ass that will knock pedestrians off the sidewalk and into the street throughout New York, and three or four additional yappy dogs).

4. Pop quiz, hot shot. What's a fine-worthy offense in aviation? Besides smoking in the bathroom, punching the pilot, blowing something up with a bomb under your scrotum, turning on your computer's wireless, turning on your computer, owning a computer, or thinking of the object known as a computer? That's right: taking your shit out of the overhead while the plane is taxiing. So, of course it makes sense that Steve-o hoofed it to the Queen of Idiocy to stop her from being a recently landed criminal.

5. The bag came out, all right, and bonked Steve right in the fucking head. All of those yapping dogs and cell phones came crashing into his still-pretty, despite the natural effects of aging and stress, face.

6. Still undeterred, Steven Slater simply asked the Witch Woman to apologize. This, I believe, is beyond expectations; they're called the Friendly Skies, not the Friendly Runway and Tarmac.

7. The moment of truth: Baroness Tightly McCuntington(shire) didn't apologize. She called Steve Slater a "motherfucker."

8. Who still says motherfucker, really? Come on. Then again, she could have called him a sausage stealer or a faggot. That would not be good for two reasons: it is mean, and it would be a hell of a lot harder to poke fun at the event.

Anyway, that was it for Steven. Two-plus decades of dealing with people who wanted still ONE MORE BAG of Munchies, babies who tried to eat the $1 crappy headphones, passengers who whined and moaned about only being allowed to use their credit cards to purchase "Gigli" on the in-flight Pay-Per-View, and the fact that he has to walk around looking like a mid-century train porter who was thrown head-first into a giant blueberry finally came to a head.

Steven cracked open a couple of brewskis, grabbed the microphone, cursed out Labia-zilla, deployed the emergency inflatable slide, flipped her a few birds, and took the most amazing ride down that super-fun slide that we all want to experience, without the unfortunate side-effect of our plane having crashed into a body of water.




And people have a problem with this? Please! I'm glad to hear that Steven has posted bail. I'm glad to hear that Facebook fan pages have cropped up in his honor. I hope the cast of Boston Legal comes to New York to defend him. And, if not them, then maybe James Wood as Shark; that guy is a fucking beast! The Dr. House of Los Angeles public defenders!

Because, don't we all want to be like Steven Slater? Don't we want to grab a couple of alcoholic drinks, drop a few well-placed F-bombs, and inflate a giant slide from our offices or retail location and ride it out to employment freedom? To be honest, I'd be fine with just the slide. Perhaps I'll contact HR about that.

Oh, and one more fact of note: the cops apparently busted into Steven's house and found him in an "embrace" with his partner. Can you imagine that scene?

(Mr. ALBERT MONTGOMERY-SLATER is preparing a roast. Triumphant trumpets begin to blare. STEVEN SLATER KICKS his way through the front door.)

ALBERT: Hi honey, how was the landing?

STEVEN (fighting off ninjas): I cursed out a passenger, pounded back two Coronas, inflated an emergency slide, and rode it down to the runway. AND NOW I'M HUNGRY!

ALBERT: You what?

STEVEN (dangling from a rope over a pit of snakes): I am the hero of the work-a-day world! I got a standing ovation from the passengers!

(STEVEN MARCHES up to ALBERT, dipping him so they are face-to-face.)

STEVEN: And now I want to pound you like scone dough!

ALBERT: Oh my.

(ROAST EXPLODES).

You get it, Steven! Not only do you become a hero for everyone stressed by their current occupations, you also got home quick enough to slip in some hot gay sex before the cops showed up to cart your ass to the clink!

Now, some people say this was "reckless endangerment". Apparently those Super-Happy-Fun-Tragedy-Emergency slides deploy so quickly that they could crush anyone near them on the runway. As a means of defense, if you're down there, that means you're a baggage handler. And after years of THOSE assholes power-bombing my checked luggage, maybe they deserve a slide-assisted bitch slap or two. It'll teach them to better respect our unmentionables.

So my final say? Bravo Steve. jetBlue: it's your move. What do you do now? You've always been the cool, funny airline. You've never done me wrong, or, really, offended anyone I know. You also are probably the only reason people would ever be willing to sit through a 4-hour marathon of MTV's Next (I did this once. I am not ashamed.) Stand up for Mr. Slater. Do something irreverent and cheeky. Name him your new CEO or something.

And to the bitch that made this all possible: I love how your name goes unmentioned. I wonder if we'll ever find out who you are. Until we do (assuming we ever do), I'll just go ahead and assume it's the next assflap whose cell phone goes off in the middle of the second act of West Side Story.

J/