My day on U.S. Airways flight 1549

Posted by Jesus on January 16, 2009

You are not going to believe what happened to me! I was on a plane crash! I mean, you’d never find my name on a flight manifest, and don’t bother trying to find any trace of me or my presence, but I was onboard U.S. Airways flight 1549 yesterday when it went down. Of course the liberal media isn’t telling you anything about my having been on board, nor are they talking about the huge victory Heaven won over Hell over the Hudson yesterday, but never fear! I’m here to tell you the whole story!

It was me, Moses, Ken Lay, Confucius, and Ronald Reagan. We were sitting in the last row of the plane as it taxied around the airport. Moses and Ken had spied a couple of muslim fellows while we were sneaking in a quick round at Pebble Beach, and we followed them. You know, since muslims aren’t allowed on Pebble Beach. It was, you know, out of the ordinary.

So we followed these muslims, or at least muslims who looked similar to them, all the way to New York and finally to LaGuardia Airport, where we found ourselves presented with too many muslims to follow. We split up and tried to tail as many as we could, and went ahead and called in two squads of Heavy Assault Angels just in case one of them spontaneously radicalized.

Of course our splitting up is exactly what Satan wanted. As soon as we were divided he sent his super secret band of demonic super assassins, the Hare Krishna followers. They got to each of us separately, and the airport erupted in fierce battle.

Ronald and I fought our way to one another as we had done a thousand times before, I shedding attackers with my trusty M4 carbine and Reagan doing what he did best, beating the utterances out of every single communist Krishna who stood in his path. Moses tossed flaming bolts of snake from his giant, withered staff into the dancing, chanting demons. We worked our way through the terminals, fighting Krishna ninjas from our midst in bold strokes as we picked up members of our band along the path.

Even Ken Lay was stomping the crap out of Krishna. Then it hit us. Ken Lay was stomping the crap out of Krishna super satanic demon-controlled ninja henchmen. Under normal circumstances it took him half an hour and a pair of pliers to pinch a loaf. It was a trap.

I called the band to me and asked for ideas.

“Enemy who send diversion hiding something,” said Confucius.

“Of course they’re hiding something, Sun Tzu, why else would they be sending these…what are these, children?” grumbled Ronald Reagan.

“Yeah, they’re kids. The sick bastards sent 8-year olds dressed up like super secret satanic all-star ninja assault assassin squads to bog us down in slaughter,” I reasoned.

“And they knew we’d get caught up in the wrath,” finished Moses. “Tricky work. What do you think we’re looking at?”

“Well,” I replied, “I only know of one General capable of sending a diversionary 8 year old rush.”

“Yeah, this is his work,” Reagan finished conclusively. We all knew not to question the Gipper. This one was personal for him.

We concluded that the most likely target would be an airplane, so Ken hacked the airport network and started pulling flight information. There was a brief conversation as to which plane we wanted, but Confucius came up with the brilliant idea to find the flight with the fewest muslims, and Reagan agreed. We went with that, which is how we found ourselves in the last row of U.S. Airways flight 1549.

The rear wheels had just come off the ground when all hell broke loose. Demons began pouring from the small bathroom in massive attack waves, throwing themselves toward the cockpit. Reagan spotted them first and dove headlong into their numbers, choking and poking whatever his spectacular hands could find. Moses had little room to work his staff and fell to fists himself, plowing into the fray with a ferocity and strength a man only gains living in the desert.

Confucius and I laid down cover fire and fell back toward the front of the passenger area while Ken Lay sucked the souls of the demons from their black and twisted corpses as they fell in the aisle. With each soul he seemed to grow in virility, bouncing soon from corpse to corpse with the speed of a man growing increasingly possessed by evil soul-sucking greed.

“Confucius, Ken is eating demons, I think he’s super-possessed!” I yelled.

“What do we do?” he called back.

“Hold the line, I’m going to go grab him,” I commanded. The old philosopher loaded a fresh drum into his well-worn PKM and cut me a path to Kenneth, who was by that point starting to glow a little bit. I hit Ken hard, knocking a corpse from his hand, and called for Moses to help me.

Just then the flow of demons from the lavatory quintupled. Moses and Ronald were driven back, and soon even I was forced to turn Ken loose and rejoin the expanding fight. We fell back, row after row. Within seconds we had crossed the mid-point in the cabin and were beginning to question the mission outcome.

It was the perfect time for our reinforcements to arrive, and of course Captain Perfect arrived just then. His two heavy W.H.A.L.E. (Warriors Hardened Against Lucifarian Elements) teams entered the skirmish through the cockpit and we quickly dug in and established a firing position. The demons continued to come, growing in thickness and hatred, but Perfect’s men cut them down in their tracks. I convened a small council behind the line to assess the situation.

“Sit rep!” I barked.

“Sir, we’ve brought twelve Heavy WHALES and some artillery. We’re ready to hold this plane until Kingdom come,” Captain Perfect explained.

I nodded. “It may come to that, Captain. We’re dealing with something really nasty here.”

“How nasty are we talking about, Sir?” Perfect asked, unfazed.

“Captain Perfect, we have reason to believe that we’re about to face Sigmund Freud. You had best tell your men to dig in deep,” said Reagan slowly.

We sat in a small circle for a moment, each of us making eye contact with one another, each of us expressing respect, devotion, appreciation. Few ever came back from an encounter with Sigmund. This was going to be bad.

We took up positions around the WHALE team, accepting weapons and ammunition from the combat-hardened Angels. Our hardened band of warriors poured a long barrage of fire into the demons and pushed their wall of advance all the way to the lavatory. Then, suddenly, their attack stopped.

It went quiet.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please note that the ‘fasten seat belts’ light is still on. Please remain in your seats until we have reached our cruising altitude.”

More silent seconds passed.

“Sir, you’re going to have to put that tray up. I’m sorry, it will only be for another minute.”

Moses and I looked at each other.

Then the plane buckled. We lost airspeed immediately and there was a loud bang from outside the aircraft. The people on board began to panic. It became immediately clear that the plane was in peril, and we were probably going to crash.

“Perfect, get your ass up there and tell the pilot I want a safe landing, and I don’t care if he has to sell his soul to get it!” I commanded. “Confucius, go with him!”

“I’m going too,” Ronald Reagan growled, lowering his rifle.

“No, I need you here!” I shouted back.

“But I’m the best pilot you’ve got!” howled Ronald.

“I need you on the line, Ronald!”

I didn’t receive an answer. There he was, in a charcoal suit, striding confidently up the aisle as if he had not a care in the world. The aircraft banked left and shuddered again, but Sigmund marched on calmly.

“FIRE!” I screamed.

We put somewhere between sixty and eighty thousand rounds of anti-demon ammunition into Sigmund Freud and he never broke stride. He walked right up the the nearest WHALE Angel, leaned into the soldier’s ear, and chattered a few words. The Angel, immediately confused and scared, took his own life rather than follow the path Dr. Freud had put his mind upon. He proceeded in the same manner through a second soldier, then a third. The fourth took slightly longer, but Sigmund did not lose patience, smiling and chuckling as he told the man a silly anecdote. The poor warrior never stood a chance.

I had to stop it there. I threw down my rifle and walked toward Sigmund.

“Freud!” I screamed, pointing at Satan’s most accomplished General.

“Jesus,” he hissed. “I knew you’d be here. Let me ask you a question: how is your mother?”

“Don’t start, Freud!” I shouted back.

“Jesus, stop,” came a low voice behind me. Ronald Reagan walked slowly past me and stopped between Sigmund Freud and I. “You and Moses need to save these people. I’ll handle our friend here.”

“Ronald,” I started.

“Jesus, I don’t ask you for much. Save these people. I’ve got this.”

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this, Ronald Reagan,” Sigmund Freud spit through clenched teeth.

“Then you come and get it, you commie scum,” Reagan growled, and the two engaged in mortal combat.

The plane was just leveling off over the Hudson when Moses and I entered the cockpit. Confucius and Captain Perfect were standing silently in the corner, watching in awe as the pilot brilliantly brought the aircraft around in a wide arc.

“Wait Jesus,” Captain Perfect whispered as I got closer to the pilot. “This guy is really fucking awesome.”

“Brace for impact,” the pilot chirped smoothly, hands firmly on the controls. “Increase flaps. Throttle back. 3….2…..1…brace.”

The landing was spectacular. Captain Perfect and I even had a little laugh about it.

“Holy crap, where did you guys find this pilot?” Moses asked.

“He was here when we got here,” Captain Perfect chuckled.

“Do you think God knew about this?” Moses asked me.

“I’m not sure. But certainly He wouldn’t have known we’d all…” Confucius began

“Hey Jesus, where’s Ronald?” interrupted Captain Perfect.

“Oh shit, he’s back there with Freud!”

We fled the cockpit and entered the main cabin, which was quickly clearing out after the impact. People were moving onto the wings in an orderly manner, and all of them were helping each other. There was no Ronald Reagan, however, and no Sigmund Freud.

“Where are they?” asked Confucius.

“Perhaps I can answer that,” came a high voice from the lavatory. Ken Lay, who was as possessed as I’d ever seen anyone before, emerged at the rapidly-sinking rear of the plane and walked toward us.

“Ken, you don’t want to do this,” I began.

“I have to do this, Jesus,” Ken hissed.

“Seriously, Ken. You need to stop.”

“I can’t stop Jesus,” Ken replied, “but my fight isn’t with you.” I’m here for the old one.” He pointed at Moses.

“I got this, Jesus,” Moses spoke. Save Ronald. He put his fist out. I pounded it, then exited the cabin with Confucius and Captain Perfect on my heels.

Outside there was pandemonium. People were crowding onto the wings and the rescue boats were closing in fast. I scanned the horizon for Ronald to no avail.

“Perfect, where’s Ron?” I yelled.

“I don’t know…wait…there he is!” Perfect yelled back, pointing. Sigmund and Ronald were sitting across from one another on the nose of the aircraft, talking quietly as the plane sank slowly. We climbed atop the fuselage and closed in on Freud.

“Jesus, you’d better stop right there,” Sigmund called out when I came within rock-throwing distance.

“Or what?” I replied.

“Ronald, tell Jesus about your mother,” commanded Freud to the Gipper.

Tears suddenly streamed from the eyes of Ronald Reagan, the old, tough man wailing in front of us all about the mistreatment he suffered under the iron fist of his old, dead mom.

“You see, Jesus, even your Gipper is no match for my mind. Now, why don’t you have a seat over here?” Sigmund called to me.

“No, I just…uh…wait,” I stammered.

“It’s okay Jesus,” the Doctor’s soothing voiced called. “Just have a seat right over here.”

“But you’re…um…Satan,” I babbled, but I was acutely aware of my feet moving toward him.

“You too, Captain Perfect. And you, Confucius,” Dr. Freud sang out. “Come over here and have a seat.”

We sat down in a little circle on the front of the plane and a barge passed by closely, as oblivious to us as we to it. We all began to talk about our mothers and their sexuality. I grew numb and cold as Dr. Freud wormed his way into my mind. My vision began to blur. I was blacking out. I began to consider calling on Dad for help.

“Stop!” came a commanding voice from behind us. We all snapped from our stupor and looked to the top of the sinking plane to see Moses, who was perfectly dry, with a huddled, beaten Ken Lay in a heap behind him.

“You’re no match for me, Moses,” began Sigmund, rising to meet the challenge of the withered old warrior. He never gained his feet, however, as Moses took control of the Hudson river and knocked Freud into a fast-forming gap in the river with an aquatic fist. Sigmund fell to the mud below us, deep within a hole held open by Moses and his great staff.

“It’s not over,” Sigmund hissed from below us.

“No, Sigmund, it’s only beginning,” I moaned. “Moses, send him back to Hell.”

Moses closed the hole and we stuck around to ensure that all of the civilians got off the plane safely. We finished up with a quick word to the captain, but left before the police arrived.

Ken is still recovering over at Confucius’ house after the nasty beating Moses gave him. Neither one of them will tell me about it, but from the look of the bruises around Ken’s back and head I’d say he got what he deserved. Moses and I are meeting with God later to tell Him about encountering Sigmund Freud on the plane in New York. He’s not going to like that we snuck off to play golf again, but it’s a good thing we did.

I think the final battle is coming soon. What happened on U.S. Airways flight 1549 was only the beginning. But we’ll be here, me and my little band of warriors, standing between you and the minions of Satan with their little muslim friends when the end comes.

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