December 23, 2003
ALASKA AIR SUCKS
and I've never even flown the felchers. I have been infected by their invidious pop-up ad, though. I believe my daughter brought it home with a stray kitten and a cyber-trip to Neopets.
Oh, I could purge the vermin with a colonic cleansing of the old cookie file, but that whacks the embedded passwords on my spankful amputee hidey-holes, and, uh, my Anglican Missionary Outreach sites.
I know you e-genies can tell me how to fix this, so please send your helpful hints to reamd@hotmail.com.
In the meantime, I'm porked with 67 Alaska Air pop-ups an hour.
I am Velociman, however, and will prevail. Here's the deal: I sneak across the border dressed as something innocuous, like a Musselman terrorist with Semtex dripping out of his drawers. Once in Nome I can wreak my havoc. I shall burn their planes, jackhammer their runways, urinate in their decaf coffee urns, and sow salt upon their grasslands.
I might even take vengeance upon the State of Alaska in general, just like Islamists rape your grammy to teach you a lesson. Dump Streisand CD's in Prince William Sound, slather Bligh Reef with Paul Krugman editorials. Penetrate that foul mosquito-infested swamp known as the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge with rusty 1930's era drill bores. Stand back and let the oil spew over Gaia like Jett Rink on mescaline.
Coup de grace? Force feed captured salmon and tuna the fouled bodies of filleted porpoise, while orca-blood coated Esquimeux perform their ritual totem strap-on dance of fertility in the background with their naked 12 year old nieces.
Or I could cleanse the cookie file. Either way, I figure Alaska Air has it coming.