01/21/01

Yeah, the free trip to paradise, that never happened. The plane started moving down the runway, I just panicked. Got the hell out of my seat and climbed up the aisle toward the cockpit hollerin’ like a little girl for the captain to stop the damn plane and let me the fucking hell off. September 11, 2000— that’s a date I’ll not soon forget. Took off from Newark, so by the time they got me subdued, and that Sumo wrestler guy got my face---and what seemed like the whole rest of my body too---smushed up against the window, the plane was making a descent toward Stewart Airport for emergency landing. And wouldn’t you know we ended up flying right over the damn farm! I could see the old backhoe working away in the corner of the oak tree lot, a plume of dark smoke rising up out of its engine.

That was the first of the three arrests.

Here the wife had in mind she was going to be finally visiting Hawaii like she always dreamed and I fucked the whole thing up for her. I don’t fly, what else can I say. Every time I had to go to my daughter’s college in Oklahoma I drove the hell there, even fell asleep behind the wheel once. But even after that I still wouldn‘t fly. I’m telling yah, they don’t call me Old Moa for nothin'.

Damn I wish I never won that fucking prize.

I wish I never let Percy bring that damn filmmaker on the place either. Both those fuckers are jinxes, I’m telling yah!