Before you read the story below, you should first understand the conditions
under which it was written.  Two of my friends and I decided to stalk some
other friends that were at a party.  Ok, so picture three guys sitting in a
car at night for three and a half hours with nothing to do but listen to the
radio.  Whelp, I got bored and looked around.  Lo and behold, there was a
pencil and a 3"x5" notepad sitting in the glove compartment.  I wrote
frantically for about 45 minutes, and yielded about 16 pages worth of
coolness.  Those 16 pages are listed for you below...Enjoy.


The Little Airplane That Couldn't
---------------------------------
Pedro was an airplane.  Pedro was a small American Eagle commuter plane.  His
name was Pedro because he was assembled in Mexico City.  Pedro was always such
a good little plane...He never disobeyed the pilots that drove him - that's
why the accident came as such a big surprise.  It was a cold day in early
December.  Pedro had just been de-iced and was taxiing around, waiting for the
pilot, Cap'n Jim, to get premission to take off from the control tower.
Fifteen minutes passed and Pedro was starting to get cold again.  "That's OK,"
Pedro thought, "I can do this - I've done it before."  It was another fifteen
minutes before Cap'n Jim was allowed to take Pedro out onto the runway.  By
this time, Pedro was _very_ cold, and could barely move.  "I don't think I can
do it," thought Pedro, "I need to be de-iced again."  OH!  Pedro was in a real
pickle!  "How am I to tell the pilot that I cannot fly?"  Pedro thought and
thought.  He made all the lights in the cockpit flash on and off, but he
stopped when Cap'n Jim started hitting the control panels saying,
"...the hell?" trying to make them stop.  That wasn't enough for Cap'n Jim to
turn the plane around, so Pedro turned down the temperature in the cockpit as
low as it would go.  It took Cap'n Jim a few minutes to screw the cap back on
his vodka canteen before he could saunter over to the temperature control and
turn it back up.  It looked as if Pedro was doomed.  Pedro tightened the
little air jets above the seats in the passenger cabin so that it sounded like
they were all screaming "Aieeeeeeeeee!!!" but nobody got it.  Before he knew
it, Pedro was at the end of the runway about to take off.  He didn't want to
go because he knew he would kill about 30 people, including himself.  Cap'n
Jim was too piss-drunk to realize that it had been a little over thirty
minutes since the plane was last de-iced.  Slowly, Pedro's engines were
powered up by the more than intoxicated Cap'n Jim.  Pedro slowly started to
roll down the runway.  As Pedro accelererated he thought to himself, "Yes!  I
CAN do it!"  Cap'n Jim hit the button to raise the flaps and they went up -
but only halfway.  Pedro was the only one that seemed to notice.  Soon,
_EVERYBODY_ noticed as the plane crashed through the weak restraining wall at
the end of the runway and tunneled through the UPS warehouse directly behind
it.  Everything would have been OK at this point because Pedro's fuel tanks
had not been injured.  However, it just so happens that that crazy mail-bomber
guy had a package in this warehouse.  That was not good for Pedro because it
exploded right under his fueselage.  You could barely hear the screams of the
burning people on board over the various explosions going on inside the cabin.
Just then, a big crate loaded with bottles of Heineken crashed through the
windows of the cockpit, spraying a sticky sort of napalm all over Cap'n Jim.
Jim burned even brighter that he had been burning once the alcohol hit him.
Pedro was dying, but he took some comfort in seeing Cap'n Jim die such a firey
death.  As the metal of the cabin melted, it dripped into the eye-sockets of
the skulls of the stewardesses where the flesh had burned away long before.

                        -/-finis-\-