Who wants to TEXT ADVENTURE?

[ZachOrem]

It is universally acknowledged that the chances of dying in an aeroplane crash are exponentially lower than being killed by a kick from a goat.

The trouble with this is that all together you would like to avoid dying at all; and although you spend very little time around goats, the time you spend aboard aeroplanes more than makes up for the difference, since due to a misprint in the descrpition of your job as an aeroplane comfort engineer, you are obligated to spend 8^62 hours out of every 24 reviewing the comfort of aeroplanes - a oversight your employer deemed insignificant and unworthy of correction.

As a matter of fact, you are aboard an aeroplane right now. To be precise, you are currently engaged in the epitome of first class comfort aboard a NevarKrash 800 - the safest aeroplane ever constructed by the Eccentric Aeronautics Corporation. Designed with comfort in mind, the NevarKrash 800 sports aisleways as wide as a city street and plush sofabed seats. Soft neon lights and a looped bassline soothe and relax on what is an admittedly very smooth flight. However - you cannot help but feel undertones of pure evil on this particular trip. Or maybe it was just something you ate.

The NK800 is about a mile long with a cockpit and the twenty pilots required to fly the lumbering beast at the forefront; the stewardess' enclave penultimate forward; first class and the winearium after that; coach - filled with criminals and deviants next; and finally the bowels of the plane at the very back - where the Ogre lives. Nobody talks about the Ogre.

Patrolling the aisle of first class is a miserable, elderly stewardess. She looks like a prune who has stayed out in the sun for too long, and even her stewardess' uniform, which is tattered and dusty, looks beand new when set against her wrinkles.

There is a young man sitting across the asle from you. He is wearing huge headphones which are plugged into a portible 8-track player. He looks very jive.

Exits are north and south.

[Thunderscreech]

You promptly decide that the young man accross from you is a Hipster (because, let's face it, WHO LISTENS TO PORTABLE 8-TRACK PLAYERS ANYMORE?), so you decide to troll him by asking about obscure bands and then saying you have heard of each one, at which point he becomes very upset, and begins screaming about terrorists, which upsets the 300 Air Marshalls that are sitting in the passanger compartment, as well as the special forces guys hiding in all the overhead compartments. They emerge, bristling with "mostly" non-leathal weapons, but you still feel uncomfortable about that AK-47 with the 100-round drum...wait, American forces never carried AK's...which is then you realize the person with the 100 round drum is the hipster.

Knowing he could perforate the exterior skin of the plane with his sloppy Chinese copy of a Real AK, you quickly pull out your home-made prison shank, which is made of the plastic that electronics devices come encased in bubble packs in, and didn't set off the metal detectors. you proceed to smear the edge with LSD, and then begin stabbing him. It's not a big shank, more like a plastic needle. You also quickly realize that the LSD you are using was developed by Nazi Super-Scientists, and is mixed with a penetrating agent, meaning it is absorbed intot he bloos superfast. Within minutes, the hipster kid is shouting things about worms. You look at the 300 air marshalls and feel your face turning into a grin. you don't want to ask the question, but you do.
"Problem, Officers?"