So, as you may have noticed in the title, I had my doctorate taken away. Fear not, it wasn't taken away without my willingness. I actually ran into some title clearance issues and went to the college to ransack the place and force them to take it. All went well. So, now I give a brand new offering of entertainment, edge-of-seat thrills, yet no comedy, because this is all real and serious. So, back in '99 when I was a Pan American pilot, I was flying passengers and cargo from Miami to Los Angeles on an over night trip. As I got the plane into the sky, I taped the controls in place and made a small child watch to make sure nothing went wrong as the copilot, staff, and myself all went to the first class area for coffee and steaks. As we were eating our steaks, I turned to the copilot beside, a Mr. Walter W. Walters, and inquired, "How's the steak?" "Excellent." the fresh from flight school pilot replied, "But wouldn't it be safer if one of us took control, and didn't rely on a six year old and some duct tape to keep the plane steady?" "Hey!" I exclaimed, "Are you captain? No! Do you have an entire three time units of experience? Maybe! But you made those units up! I do, and they're all years! And besides, that 6 year old has D's in school! He's passing, so he's fine! And that is no duct tape up there, that is gorilla tape!" He shot back, "Sir, regardless of the type of tape or grades of the student, you have no right to put this all on him and tape!" I gave this juicy piece back, "Are you going to go up there and fly the plane?!" "Pff, no! I'm eating steak!" I replied to his reply, "Then calm down. The best pilots are small children, ages 6-6. Its' proven by scientists. And Gorilla tape has a way of flexing when it senses danger, so it can literally steer us out of danger." "Really?" he asked. I vibrated my vocal chords and moved my tongue and lips to make this cocktail of movements, "Would it calm you down?" "Yes, it would." he gave me. I gave back, "Then yes." We continued eating in silence for four hours while the food kept coming, then I got up and walked to the side door of the plane. "I wonder how well these chutes work." I said. The copilot replied, "Who knows?" "Only one way to find out!" I offered. "You're not really going --" CLICK - LEAP - "Ahhhhhhhh!!" I had strapped the chute to a male passenger, about 30 years of age, and plunged him outward to test it. It worked. Not well. Who knows how he ended up? So, I walked to the front of the plane to find that the kid was staring out the window shaking. The tape was torn, but who cared? I sat down and took control, dismissing the kid. I looked at the map and landed at the nearest airport. I had made slight miscalculations, and we had moved in that time from Miami to Moscow, not LA. I evacuated the plane, shrugging off comments about us being in Russia and assuring many that we were, in fact, in a Russian neighborhood of Los Angeles. As they went their own ways, I saw the tip of a Russian military submarine poking out of the water. I jogged over to it, then opened the hatch and hopped in. I delivered a kicking to the butts of everyone inside, and forced the Russians out. I went to Los Angeles myself in the sub. After that adventure, I got out on the LA dock, then bumped into a physoc. Ew. I hate physocs. They're gross creatures with no manners. I walked around the physoc and went my own way to a hotel. I got a room and went straight to sleep. All in all, it was an ordinary day.
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