Weekly Shocks' Blog


“I would tell you more, but I’ve already told you way too much.”

Oooooh. OOOOOOH. I love news drama. Especially when the drama is mysterious and strange and the players involved are incompetent hacks who love the spotlight and – bonus! – are regularly charged with the safety of hundreds of people 30,000 feet above the Earth.

So, not surprisingly, I’m following the developing freak show of the plane that overshot Minneapolis/St Paul by 150 miles last week with salivating interest and trembling hands, though the trembling hands could be the result of too many Diet Cokes and the excess saliva is probably due to the fact that I’m baking those Pillsbury cinnamon rolls with the iced frosting glaze of happiness – oh God, they’re so good – and my whole room smells like an autumn-y gingerbread house I want to stick my face in and devour in one bite. Nom nom nom. Still! The story is pretty tasty, too. I mean, the title of this blog post is a direct quotation from the saucy first officer regarding the manifest reasons why he and his dear, sweet captain missed a landmark as subtle as a major international airport and ignored radio calls from the ground for over an hour. Most news sources are predicting that these two ass-clowns simply fell asleep somewhere between their San Diego-Minneapolis jaunt, but frankly, most news sources are staffed by bored, cynical, lazy bums who need a swift kick in the rear. And that’s my job, isn’t it? Of course it is.

I’m guessing the whole incident was either a covert military operation against the Canadians (and “aboot” damn time, too) or, more likely, an alien abduction. And I bet most of you good folks agree with me. Right? Hell yeah, I’m right! You know what I’m talking about. That’s why I like you guys. You’re smart and sassy and see the hidden conspiracies everywhere. Good work, people.

(Wait, who the hell am I talking to? I need help.)

Incidentally, I’ve been to the Twin Cities on a couple of different occasions, and they really are a beautiful, criminally underrated place well worth visiting, except during their 11 month-long winters (Weekly Shocks’ Rule Number 543: “If the snow drifts in your cities are bigger than me, your iced-arctic hellhole I shall not see.”) or their three-week long summers when the temperature soars to 112 degrees and the humidity hovers around 105% and you watch helplessly while mosquitoes the size of your head hold you at gunpoint and drain your entire body of its blood supply. But other than those unseasonable times, it really is a lovely place. Book your flight now, and if your pilots get abducted by a second batch of aliens and you end up in Wisconsin (without your luggage, naturally), well, I hear that state’s quite nice, too. Enjoy!

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