Chapter 3 – It All Started After a Plane Hijacking with Billy Joel

Read Chapter 1

Read Chapter 2

Everything was on fire.

Lukala frantically slapped at the fire as it crawled into his hut, thinking, “Wow, this material catches fire really easily and we knew that. Why did we construct our homes out of it?” He also thought it was weird that the gods would be cursing their village this early in November. They usually did it quarterly.

A feminine scream snapped Lukala out of his thoughts. It was his father, immobilized in his palace hut. Frank blew rapidly at the flames to keep them at bay, which would have worked if the flames were someone with a sense of smell.

Lukala’s future empire was glowing orange and red, crumbling to the ground piece by piece. His people were doing as instructed and gathering at the ‘safe spot,’ which was also completely engulfed in flames. The roar of the flames muted Lukala yelling at them to stop, so they died. They were brave, loyal idiots until the very end.

A dozen or so villagers ran off into the purple jungle, refusing instructions. This is who Lukala would be left with- the intelligent cowards. It’s kind of similar to how America was formed.

Weyland sat at the jungle’s edge wondering where the fire had come from. What were the chances of another arsonist being on an island with so few people? In the last 48 hours Weyland had been in a village fire, survived a plane crash, and murdered a police officer (that happened before the story began so I didn’t mention it).

From the corner of his eye, Lukala caught his father chin-dragging himself out of the hut, his body engulfed in flames. From the corner of his ear, Weyland could hear American voices deeper in the jungle, but he lost interest when he saw Lukala stomping at the fire engulfing Frank. Weyland assumed Lukala was trying to smash Frank’s skull open, so he ran over to help.

Weyland stomped aggressively, but Frank couldn’t feel it past the fire, though he was assuredly breaking bones. Luckily it made it appear as if Weyland had been helping. Lukala glared at Weyland, which made Weyland immediately blurt out, “Whoa, I’m not like that, buddy.” Lukala thought that Weyland had meant that he wasn’t responsible for the fire, when he was actually implying Lukala was a homosexual.

Weyland didn’t feel like fighting Lukala, plus he still had multiple stab wounds, so he didn’t take a swing. Instead, he followed him.

With Frank hoisted on Lukala’s shoulder, they ran through the jungle towards the cowards. At least they would all be safe together. Little did they know that the cowards were hiding in the bushes from a duo of masked soldiers. As cowards do, they said nothing, and the three men ran right into the masked men.

The masked men aimed their guns at them. Weyland shouted, “Shoot them, not me!” Lukala looked at him with a confused look, to which Weyland whispered, “Don’t worry. I have a plan.” (The plan was for the two men to shoot Lukala and Frank.)

One of the masked men, obviously the leader because of his patch that said “leader” on it, told them to get on their knees. They did what he said as best they could given that between Frank and Weyland they had every injury you could think to have. The leader watched the three of them very closely, and nudged Frank with his gun, “What happened to him?”

Lukala coldly replied, “A misunderstanding.”

The leader turned his gaze to Weyland, “and you?”

Weyland promptly replied, “They did this to me. Kill them.”

Lukala and Frank gave him a “What-the-fuck” look, to which he again whispered, “I have a plan.” The plan was still to have the men shoot Lukala and Frank.

The leader scanned Weyland with a serial killer’s gaze, “Are you American?”

“Yes.”

“Get up.”

The other masked man trudged over to Weyland and hoisted him up. Weyland acted like dead weight, and the man pulled something in his back that would give him problems for the next few days.

“We’ll kill these two,” commanded the leader, nudging towards Lukala and Frank.

Weyland looked at Lukala and Frank, who were all but resigned to their fate. Their entire village was destroyed except for the cowards, who were still watching from 10 feet away in the bushes. The machine gun’s cocking click echoed through the forest, only masked by the dying roar of flames. The gun raised to their heads, as if the soldier had done this a million times before. It was actually his first time and he was very nervous, but he’d always lived by “fake it ’til you make it.”

“Wait,” interrupted Weyland, “I want them for myself.”

The masked men looked at him, giving Lukala the chance to wink at Weyland. It was absolutely true though. Weyland wanted to kill them himself. To finish the job.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” demanded the leader.

“Weyland Grauman, like the theater. I’m a marine for the United States army,” which wasn’t true at all, but he’d used it so many times he wasn’t even sure it wasn’t true anymore. It was surprising how seldom he had been called out on it, although it does help when you’re openly bleeding from wounds that should have killed you, which was surprisingly often for Weyland.

“What do you want from me?” asked Weyland, now feeling like he was in with the group.

The lesser masked man leaned into the leader and whispered something in his ear, to which the leader sharply replied, “I know. Let me handle it,” and he shifted his gaze back to the three men, “You’re all coming with us.”

 

Chapter 2 – It All Started After a Plane Hijacking with Billy Joel

Weyland washed up on the shore of an island, unscathed. The sand was as white as cocaine, and it hurt when Weyland snorted it into his wheezing nostrils, thinking it was cocaine. He had landed on an island so remote that it didn’t appear on any maps. It was also ripe with purple foliage, making it an eye-sore and difficult to print. To this day, millions of dollars have been wasted on reprints of maps and globes around the world, due to people thinking the small purple speck was a mistake. Approaching from the shore it looked as if you were walking into a purple cabbage field, and something about the air smelled like purple cabbage farts.

The plane had crashed, killing Billy Joel and Billy Joe Armstrong, along with everyone else on board. He couldn’t remember exactly how he made it out alive, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was alive. He picked himself up from his raft of dead bodies to see five indigenous men running straight for him. He was able to knock them all out before they could tell him they were there to help.

It was incredibly easy for Weyland to dispatch the five men. Throughout his life he had taken an enormous amount of self-defense and skill training classes, from Tae Kwon Do to clay potting. He was quickly kicked out of every single class within the first few weeks for either not paying, or sexual harassment and not paying. Despite the individual setbacks, the sheer amount of beginner-level knowledge combined with self-training made him a killer. His conviction for DUI and Manslaughter also made him a killer.

He looked over the men’s bodies. They had skin like peanut butter and open head wounds like jelly. Typically Weyland wouldn’t have attacked the men, but they were rushing towards him and had a different skin color than him. Any normal day he would have let them beat him up and then filed suit, either embellishing heavily or lying completely. Today was no normal day though. Today Weyland would become a hero, again. Even if it meant certain death for someone else.

Overlooking the carnage, he thought how nice it would have been for someone to high five him, but no one ever wanted to high-five him, and no one was there. No people, but there were spears raining down.

Weyland launched into a barrel roll to dodge the oncoming spears, getting hit by every single one of them in the process. He got one in the head, one in the heart, and three in the crotch. All of them missed his vital parts on account of them being so small.

His vision started to go black and he uttered what he assumed were his last words, “Stacy Miller’s body can be found in the Hillsboro national park behind a redwood,” and then he was out.

***

The village looked like one of those amusement park tiki towns, only real and not fun at all. With all the straw material used to construct the buildings, the whole place could go up with one small spark (FORESHADOWING!). Even the utensils and condoms were made of straw, which the people, the Hichawas, sometimes confused for one another.

The chief of the Hichawas, Frank, watched Weyland’s chest heave up and down under the bandages. He knew that his prisoner was dead asleep, but had somehow masturbated to completion. Frank stabbed salad with a condom and took a bite as he studied his guest.

No people ever visited the island, so the chief was admittedly “pretty stoked,” but he was also disappointed that Weyland was such a turd. Weyland had caused severe injuries to some of his men, but Frank didn’t even know the half of it yet  (Weyland likes to chit chat during movies, but he always talks way too quietly, so you have to ask him to repeat himself. By that time you’ve missed half the movie).

The Chief had assumed that Weyland’s attack was just a misunderstanding, so he planned on making a peace offering to Weyland, and aiding him in whatever way was necessary. He imagined the endless possibilities of two men from different walks of life working together.

That’s when Weyland’s hand shot up on the chief’s throat and snapped it in between his thumb and middle finger, dropping him to the ground immediately.

The guard hurled a spear at Weyland, but he caught it with his shoulder before it could hit another part of his body.

The guard called out for help, but in his own language, so it sounded really stupid. A group of other island warriors came rushing in and tensed up for their attack.

“Stop,” choked a voice from below.

It was the Chief, still alive, but completely paralyzed from the neck down. He had quickly adapted to using his lower jaw to help him move on the floor. Either that or he was choking on his own blood.

“This is a simple misunderstanding. This man is afraid. He thought we were going to attack him-”

Weyland stomped on the Chief’s head.

The Chief groaned, “Ok. What the fuck?”

The 12 other warriors shrouded Weyland like smoke – thick, stinky smoke – and wound back their spears like pinball turrets. Weyland realized he had made a mistake. He never should have been in a plane crash, but there was no time to think about his follies now. Admittedly, he was afraid. He already thought he was going to die once today, but now he had to worry about it again? He’d never even been married or had consensual sex with a woman.

He could practically feel the tips of the spears piercing his skin, because they were, when a man larger than all the rest, even the chief, entered the disgusting hut.

“Stop it. My father is right.”

His father, the Chief, was gargling blood on the floor, doing his best to nod in agreement.

Weyland thought, “Boy these guys are forgiving. And they’re suckers. I’ll have to find a way to steal from them,” as his hand glided into the nearest warrior’s tunic, snatching a trinket that ended up being the warrior’s penis.

As the Chief’s son, Lukala, approached, Weyland fell to his knees and bowed since his wounds wouldn’t allow him to stand anymore. In the hubbub I think we all forgot that he was shot by five spears. Lukala blanched when he saw his father’s crumpled body on the ground.

“Why did you do this?” demanded Lukala.

Weyland sat, stoically on his knees, unmoving.

“I asked you a question, stranger.”

“I’m trying to shrug, but I can’t,” Weyland groaned as little spouts of blood bubbled from his wounds.

“Father, he is not dangerous. Not in this condition. What should we do?”

Three of the guards hoisted Frank up on their shoulders like a big, floppy sex-toy. Frank choked out, “Bring him to the palace guest room.”

Lukala wasn’t happy to hear this. As much as he respected his father, and his over-welcoming attitude towards guests, he didn’t trust Weyland yet. With good reason too, as Weyland was flipping everyone off as he got hoisted away. Lukala was the more traditional man of his lineage. Frank had spent some time in California on a quest for god back when his name was Rahkala. All he ended up finding was Los Angeles’ City Walk where he spent the next 10 years becoming Frank.

***

The palace guest room was no different than any of the other straw hut rooms, in that it was awful. If you saw it, you wouldn’t call it a palace guest room. For something that was so authentic, it looked tacky. Weyland mentioned that fact to the man carrying him, though the man couldn’t understand him past the blood gushing from this mouth. He was hurt badly, but it was nothing he hadn’t been through before. When he had worked construction he held the record for the most pieces of rebar to penetrate someone. It wasn’t a real record, but it was one he kept, honored, and championed. The damage it did to his body is the reason why he looks like a guy in his 50s when he’s really 23.

The guards swung him onto a cot that buckled and whined under his weight. The cot continued to squeak. The guards saw that Weyland was either writhing in pain or masturbating. They didn’t want to stick around to find out, so they quickly left.

He was masturbating.

Once he was finished he knew he had to think of a way to get out of there, find the chief, and finish the job. Everything in his brain and heart told him that killing the chief was the wrong thing to do, but something visceral was telling him it was the right thing to do. He decided to masturbate one more time before leaving.

From deep inside the jungle, eyes were peering into the Chief’s chambers, watching Lukala scold his father. The hum of night-vision goggles married with the hum of the jungle bugs, perfectly covering up the spy’s urinating onto a leaf.

Chapter 1 – It All Started After a Plane Hijacking with Billy Joel

Chapter 1

It was midnight and the Tokyo airlines flight 881 was halfway to Chennai. Taking red eye flights used to be fun until the movie Red Eye came out. Movies have a tendency to ruin things, like how Pretty Woman ruined hookers. Most of them aren’t as nice and charming as Julia Roberts. Some are even guys, which isn’t so bad, but it’s false advertising.

The plane was filled with mostly Americans, other than the few other people who don’t matter to this story. Post 9/11 you really start to notice who’s on the plane with you, and let’s be honest, you’re more comfortable in a plane full of white people, even if you’re on a plane from Japan to India. This, of course, is not true for albinos. If you’re on a plane full of albinos, change your flight.

A lot of people think that planes contain the demographic mixture of the departure city and the destination, but they’re more like bad breath containers. Especially at the butt-crack of dawn, when bad breath is at its most rampant.

The night air was thick with the rubbery smell of people-breath. I bet most of them hadn’t even brushed their teeth in hours. It smelled like they had all chewed on a condom (Not a used one. That would be gross. Not the same condom either).

For every precaution we take here in our US airports, there are a hundred other airports with fewer restrictions. They’re all a lot more fun than our airports, like when you’re taking shots in the cockpit with the pilot, but there are inherent risks with doing that. It’s kind of like being a teacher who has sex with their eighteen-year-old student, which is a total blast but frowned upon in a lot of cultures.

The Tokyo airport must have been really lax, because something bad and completely avoidable was about to happen. Duh. You wouldn’t really want to read this if something bad wasn’t going to happen. It’s the same reason you go to an alcoholic’s wedding.

In the middle of the plane was our hero, Weyland, your typical mid-50s military guy. Also, your typical Weyland. His haircut was exactly what you’d get if you went to a barber and said “give me the Weyland.” Don’t do that though, because it’s an awful haircut.

Weyland kept his eyes on the wing of the plane, expecting to see a creature and do everything that John Lithgow didn’t do to be the hero in that Twilight Zone movie. It’s important to know now that there will be no creatures on the wing, and that Weyland’s disappointment doesn’t subside once throughout this story.

In the deep back row was your typical creepy guy. The kind that masturbates in public places. Not in a perverted way like when people are around, but more like the type of guy who goes to a vacant restroom and rubs one out to make it through the day. We’ve all done that. For his integrity it’s important to note that he wasn’t masturbating at the time. But if anyone had actually chewed on a condom, it was probably him.

Weyland already had his radar on the creepy guy. Every once in a while he would even make light beeping noises with his mouth as if he was running radar.

There was a girl next to the creep, and Weyland wanted to touch her boobies, so he knew the creep did too. She was a Tara Reid type. You know, the type of femme fatale who has way too many daddy issues. If she had two dads it would be a total disaster for her. Just way too many daddies and issues.

Much to Weyland’s delight, sitting in front of him were Billy Joe (Greenday) and Billy Joel (Billy Joel). One of them looked really greasy and old, the other one was Billy Joel.

Rhonda, the flight attendant, walked up and down the aisles. She had a look on her face like she smelled a really bad fart. Or maybe it was just that she was suspicious of this flight. She probably went to a palm reader in Vegas who told her something bad was going to happen. Girls like Rhonda do that a lot. It’s better than horoscopes because sometimes you become close friends and have a drink together. You can’t have a drink with a horoscope. I imagine if you did it would be really awful.

And that’s who was on the plane. Pretty annoying, right?

Suddenly without warning, because there’s no real way to warn anyone about it, the plane had a really bad convulsion, or “turbulence” if you’re a snob. The plane shook so badly that everyone popped up in their seats. It was bad with or without a seatbelt on, but for different reasons. You could spend hours thinking about all the reasons.

Everyone settled back in, until the second convulsion happened. They all popped up in their seats again. Those that had changed their seatbelt arrangement since the first blast felt a whole new type of discomfort.

Weyland decided to be a total Weyland about things and say, “It’s going to be OK. I was in the military,” in a really lame voice (his own). It was one of those moments where everyone thought, “fuck that guy” but they also figured he could dig a pretty good hole if they needed him too, so they didn’t say anything. If the plane went down and they survived, there would probably be a lot of hole-digging for one reason or another (graves, shelter, underground pig cookouts. Mmmm, wild pig).

The crowd definitely needed reassurance. Military guys like to assure everyone that everything’s OK. It usually works too.

It didn’t this time.

*****

In the cockpit the pilot had a gun to his head, because of course he did. The man with the gun was being very forceful. I’d even go as far as to say he was being rude. It just didn’t seem that it was any way to treat a pilot, whether you’re hijacking his plane or not.

“Turn this plane around to Las Vegas.”

“We’re going from Tokyo to Paris. That’s so out of the way,” he was pretty proud of that assessment, but it was only met with a stiff gun jab to his head.

“Shut up and take us there.”

*****

At the control tower, the field monitor, Jared, leaped to his feet, or leapt (again, for snobs)-

“Did you hear that?! He said terrorist.”

Sigh. Oh, Jared.

“You say that every week,” said his co-worker who gets more tail than him.

“You didn’t hear that? The plane is being held hostage!”

Yeah, you can see why he doesn’t get any tail.

Back at the plane the hijacker slapped off the radio. He wasn’t very happy that the pilot had turned the radio on, but there’s nothing he could really do to retaliate since he didn’t know how to fly a plane. Note to all – Travolta learned. You can too.

The guy back at the tower could hear a voice come through the radio, “Everything is fine here. No terrorists.” This was enough to quell the tower’s fears since it was easier to move on than to report it. The last thing you want to do is report something like that. So much paperwork. People like to shoot the messenger, too.

I’m pretty sure that’s how Paul Revere died. Either that or AIDS.

*****

In the aisle, Billy Joel and Billy Joe were singing what could only be described as a great song, that Billy Joe was absolutely ruining. The plane cheered, begging for another song.

“And so it goes, it’s all rock and roll to me, Piano Man,” slurred Billy Joel in one of many glorious puns to come. All the passengers were lost in Billy Joel’s sweet, tangy words, and Billy Joe’s labored singing. They were too lost to smell something fishy.

Dinner was being served.

Weyland started to connect the dots. It was a hippo. He put the Highlights magazine away and started to notice something. This was no normal flight. He surveyed the room like he was taught. One – the pilot hadn’t said anything over the loud speaker following the turbulence. Two – the plane had suddenly shifted direction. 3 – The people.

He stood up, “This plane ride is too perfect. What are the chances we would have two American rock legends and me, an American hero, all in one plane?”

Everyone started to see Weyland’s point, until they remembered how annoying he was. They got easily distracted when the pervert popped up and asked for the Billies to play another song.

Billy Joel replied in song, “You may be right. Just the way you are.”

Weyland made eye contact with Rhonda, who looked like she needed to tell him something. A little bit of blood rushed to his penis, but he realized it wasn’t that she wanted to get it on. She was scared, not horny – emotions he had often confused for each other.

Rhonda chimed, “Could the person who looks like the strongest guy in the room come help me with something?”

Billy Joe knew it wasn’t him but he tried to stand up anyway. His seat belt caught him and he let out a pathetic little fart that no one heard but Billy Joel. Luckily Billy Joel had been farting silently for 45 minutes straight and knew how to keep a secret.

Whether he liked it or not (which he very much did), Weyland had to be the hero again. He got up and escorted Rhonda to the back cabin with the calm of someone who had silently followed women before.

The pervert took this as a chance to get closer to Billy Joel.

***

“I think the plane is being hijacked,” said Rhonda over the clacking of coffee dishes.

Weyland stopped clacking the dishes together. More blood went to his penis.

“I know,” said Weyland, “You chose the right man to help you.”

His brashness and bad haircut made her doubt him, but all of her fears were erased as he reached into his shirt and pulled out the chain around his neck – his dog tags, and by dog tags I mean a necklace that said “WAR” on it, meant to look like dog tags. He also had a glittery necklace that said “slut” in his back pocket. “Now let’s get this plane back.”

Inside the cockpit the pilot nervously gripped the controls, even though it was on autopilot. The pilot was a little stressed because the hijacker was one of those guys that talks at you, not with you, so the conversation sucked. Some people, right?

Weyland burst through the door and kicked the hijacker in the back of the head.

Then kept doing it because one kick wasn’t enough. The hijacker looked like he was tumbling down stairs in place. It was actually pretty incredible and everyone there could have watched it for hours. Too bad the hijacker was killed on the 9th kick.

Weyland kicked 43 times.

In the cabin, no one could hear a thing over Billy Joel’s blather-singing. He was acting drunk even though everyone saw that he only had two drinks. Then they all remembered that 15% of Billy Joel’s blood is ethanol.

The pilot was pretty beaten up after Weyland had started kicking him too.

“Jesus, why did you do that?” asked the Captain, massaging his head wound.

“It’s something I learned in training. In the military.”

The pilot shook off the stupid answer, “There’s another hijacker. I don’t know who it is, but they must be in the cabin.”

Weyland assured them, “Just keep this plane in the air.”

Ugh, does he ever just turn it off?

*****

The airplane cabin turned into a full-on concert and demonstration of Billy Joe’s inadequacies. It was like a circus but with Billy Joel music, no animals, magic, tricks, or ring. At this point Billy Joel was completely drunk, and pulling puns out faster than he could let out gas, which was VERY fast.

Everyone was having a good time, except for the pervert, who was frequently checking his watch. He seemed to cringe with every syllable sung, unable to take much more. Oh, yeah. Did I mention he was the other hijacker?

The creep leapt up with a gun, “Everybody shut up! This plane is getting hijacked!”

“I knew it!” shouted Billy Joe. He didn’t.

The hijacker smacked Billy Joe across the face with his gun and everyone gasped. They were sad he didn’t shoot him.

“No more singing!” shouted the hijacker.

Billy Joel, a poet as always point out, “we didn’t start the fire.”

Everyone cheered except for the pervert.

“Shut up, you hack!” He slowly peeled away the skin mask he was wearing to reveal that he was none other than Jerik Waters, a man no one knew or had ever heard of.

“I’m taking this plane down because of these two arseholes!” pointing at the Billies.

“This doesn’t make any sense!” shouted Billy Joe, which is true about everything until it gets explained.

He continued, “I’ve wanted to be a star for as long as I can remember. A large, gaseous being in the sky. Then I realized that’s impossible so I decided I wanted to be a singer. I sang every day. I loved it so much it’s all I could ever think about. Day and night, without rest, I would practice.”

They were already bored out of their wits. Billy Joel was buying things out of Skymall and Rochelle, the slut, was eating her hair – with a knife and fork.

“Listen to me!” his voice boomed through the plane.

Billy Joel put the Skymall away to reveal his erection, and Rochelle stopped eating her hair, which would do nothing to stop the now deadly bezoar from growing inside of her.

“Like I said, I sang every day. Day and night, without rest, I would practice-“

“I like Daughtry,” chimed Rochelle, cross-eyed to the verge of aneurism.

“Me too!” Billy Joel added.

“For Christ’s sake, shut the fuck up!”

He raised the gun in the air and “Bang!” he said with his mouth. It still got the point across. The plane hushed themselves, letting Jerik proceed. It was his villain’s right to give a speech.

“I sang every day. I wanted so badly to be like Billy Joel. I spent every waking hour practicing, performing, and sacrificing everything just to be a shred as good as him. He was my hero. I even had a Billy Joel action figure, which turned out to be a Tim Curry action figure, but I loved it just the same. That all came crashing down when I met him outside of a concert at the Santa Cruz beach boardwalk. I had spent my last dollar just to get there. But when I met him he reeked of alcohol and called me a ‘piglet dyke.’ That day I vowed that I’d get revenge on him.”

Suddenly someone shouted, “Can’t we just kill Billy Joe?” It was Billy Joe.

Jerik erupted, “You’re all dead anyway!”

*****

After sneaking into the plane cargo hold, Weyland was starting to feel really light-headed because of all the blood in his penis. Rhonda was pacing back and forth.

“Did you hear everyone scream up there? What are we going to do?”

“I know what we have to do. We have to kill everyone on this plane.”

As expected, she didn’t understand.

“It’s the only way to know for sure.”

“Know what?”

“That we got the bad guy.”

“There’s only one of them and we know it’s not Billy Joe or Billy Joel.”

“You’re right. We can’t let Billy Joel die,” he lamented, “but we have to make sure Billy Joe does die.”

She nodded in agreement.

Weyland scanned the room, “It looks like we have a food cart, some inflatable vests, luggage, and a coffee pot…”

It looked like nothing to her, but to Weyland-

“We’re going to make a drone.”

“A drone?” thought Rhonda. She had never seen a drone let alone seen one made. She felt like more had happened to her that day than in the whole year. It made her think about the ballroom dancing class she’d always been meaning to take. This was going to be the day she took her life back, but first they had to create a drone.

Weyland got to work and started assembling the drone. He was using more than what he listed, which Rhonda thought was pretty unfair. She would bring it up to him later, but wanted to pick the right time. It was all coming together quite brilliantly. Too bad it was Weyland doing it so it still totally sucked.

He started sweating and getting that same feeling he’d had when he used to handle bombs.

It’s important to now note that Weyland has NEVER served in the military and he HAS sexually assaulted someone.

*****

Like all villains, or the really good ones at least, Jerik revealed his backstory to the frightened passengers while he stroked a white cat that was there for some reason. He went on and on, and Billy Joel could barely concentrate over thinking about the perfect time to say “at least somebody’s getting a little pussy.” If Billy Joel had been listening, he’d have heard your typical “boo hoo, why doesn’t anybody like me” kind of thing. He wanted to kill Billy Joel because he had felt spurned by his hero, and he wanted to kill Billy Joe just because. That made them all feel sympathetic towards him.

“I’m crashing this plane into Joel’s house! And killing Billy Joe and Billy Joel in the process.” His fist came down on the nearest tray like a gavel to an empty courtroom. No one was paying attention.

Billy Joel was back to buying Skymall items, and Billy Joe was playing a PSP because he sucks and has one. It was time for Jerik to make a statement (kill someone).

“Teng!” he called out to the pilot’s cabin, “I’m going to take one of them out.” The response was silence. Teng was dead. Remember?

“Teng?”

Jerik immediately thought the worst – was he lowering his voice subconsciously because he lacked confidence? Then he thought the next worst thing – something happened. He started to edge towards the cockpit.

Rhonda walked in right at that moment, pushing a large food cart meant for Billy Joel.

Weyland crouched under the cart to secure the drone, but also because his penis was completely filled with blood and he couldn’t stand. He was waiting for the perfect moment.

“What the hell is going on here?” hissed Jerik. Wasn’t it more fun when we could just call him “the creep”?

The Creep slithered his finger along the trigger, ready to say “bang,” but this time with the gun. Suddenly, back at the cockpit, the pilot was using Teng’s body like a puppet to wave he was OK. It was tasteless at the time, but looking back it was pretty funny.

Weyland could feel the tension ease, so he continued to wait for his perfect moment, his legs coiled like springs ready to explode.

“Only the good die young,’ quipped Billy Joel.

The Pervert growled, “Fuck this,” and blasted Billy Joel in the head. Everyone racked their brain thinking of a Billy Joel song to make a pun of the situation, then they started screaming.

Weyland came tumbling out of the food cart (not tumbling like cartwheels and twirls, though to this day he wishes he would have). He was pretty upset, especially since he didn’t even get to see the Billy Joel shooting. He knew it must have been pretty cool.

He hit the button on the drone, and sure enough, it started flying, spewing steam and hot coffee out of it, disfiguring nearby passengers.

Jerik looked out to the screaming crowd and imagined himself on a stage in front of millions of adoring fans. The vision he had in his mind slowly transformed from hot cheering girls to wailing ugly people. To his left he saw Billy Joel’s lifeless body, looking like a child, mostly because he had defecated himself when he died.

Realizing what he had done, Jerik immediately fell to his knees in tears, which was pretty lucky because the drone immediately stopped working.

Weyland quickly snatched the gun away and pulled it apart. It took him about three minutes, but nothing much happened in that time. People like to take a breather after witnessing a murder.

“Looks like I’m a hero again,” proclaimed Weyland, which everyone immediately regretted him saying, including himself.

They sat in silence for a while as Jerik whimpered on the ground. He was no threat to anyone anymore. Weyland’s job was done.

Rochelle suggested to Jerik, “If you don’t kill us I’ll let you have sex with me.”

Everyone murmured disagreement.

“And let everyone watch.”

Everyone knew it was unnecessary but they obliged her regardless.

Rhonda, “She bangs. She bangs.”

The passengers laughed at her decades old reference and curled into their seats.

They all enjoyed the rest of the flight while watching Rochelle and Jerik, the pervert, have sex. Eventually they ran out of fuel over the Pacific Ocean and crashed, killing everyone on board.

All except one.

Releasing my book “It All Started After a Plane Hijacking with Billy Joel” on my Blog

Two years ago I quit my full time job to write a book. It literally all started with a short story called “A Plane Hijacking Story with Billy Joel” and I loved the main character so much (not Billy Joel) that I kept writing for 37k more words.

Being my first book, it has its issues, and I never fully edited it, so week by week I’ll release a chapter that I’ve edited enough that its readable.

Subscribe to get updates and enjoy the full thing!

The Farts Awakens: A Star Wars Parody, My New Paperback! + Free Preview for WordPress Users!

Hello!

Very excited to announce my new paperback available on Amazon.com, The Farts Awakens: A Star Wars Parody! (Click the image below for a link to the Amazon page)

cover photo facebook

Written in easy-to-read screenplay format, this aggressively stupid, incredibly hilarious Star Wars parody follows the adventures of Rey Toiletbowler and Finn Hardwiper as they learn to use the Farts, the mystical power of the Browneye. With the help of Handjob Solo, Princess Lay-yuh, and Jewbacca, they’ll try to stop the Empooper from releasing a weapon with unimaginable smell.

History:

30 years after the fall of the Galactic Empooper by the hand of the Rebel Assliance, the Empooper has regained strength, propelled by an unknown, dark power. Lead by General Fucks, their plan to dominate the galaxy is almost complete, using a new weapon, the power of which has never been seen before.

As time has passed and faded away, so have the lessons learned, and the heroics of the Rebel Assliance long ago. People have since forgotten the part that Luko Cockblocker played in defeating the evils of the Empooper. They have forgotten how he used the Farts, a binding, ubiquitous force found in the anus, to ultimately defeat Shart Vader.

The Browneye, an order of warriors who used the Farts for good, have been forgotten and relegated to legend. Nothing more than stories told to children, or printed in books meant to be read on the toilet.

There are, however, dark forces slowly gaining power, and those who have felt the farts before… will start to feel them again.

Help support it socially by clicking this link and joining my Thunderclap campaign! It’s very simple and helps a lot.


 

Want to see a little bit of it? Sign up for my newsletter at the link below and you’ll be directed to a download.

The Farts Awakens: A Star Wars Parody PREVIEW

My New Book is Out! The Longest Haiku!

The Longest Haiku!

I wrote a coffee table/joke/haiku book to help pay for my medical bills from my broken shoulder. You know what that means? Not only do you get an awesome book, you also get to help someone in need (ME!)

YOU CAN BUY IT ON CREATE SPACE HERE

It will be available on Amazon soon, but I prefer if you buy it on CreateSpace.

If you can’t buy it, no problem! But please give the link a share on twitter, Facebook, and every other cool place.
Tweet: Ever seen a 60+ page #haiku ? Think it's impossible? It's not! Check out @joecabello 's new #book The Longest Haiku http://bit.ly/1KP2lozClick this button to tweet instantly!

100% 5-7-5 syllable structure. The longest haiku ever written.

Authored by Joe Cabello
Cover design or artwork by Connie Shin THUMBNAIL_IMAGE

No one said I could do it.

No one said I should do it.

Then I did it.

This book holds the longest haiku ever written, using a syllable hack that will surely be highly debated for years to come.

From the comedic mind of Joe Cabello, learn the very nature of what a haiku is and why it exists. This book will make you laugh, then make you cry (but if it makes you cry then laugh, that’s good too)

PLEASE NOTE: This book is one poem with the letter “m” repeated for over 65 pages. There is more content than the repeated “m,” but the majority of the book will simply be that. It is an “artful joke” that will forever change the landscape of your coffee table.

 

Chapter 9 is here! And it’s funny?! You decide!

My last post got some good love, so as promised, here’s Chapter 9. If you haven’t read the introduction yet, read it here.

Lessons In Debauchery: The Topher Weyland Story is an adventure comedy novel about an aspiring TV personality who gets recruited by the CIA to be a distraction, but things quickly get out of hand when he forces himself into their mission and is thrust into saving the world.

I’ve included a little blurb about the events leading up to this chapter so you won’t be super confused, and you can read some of my thoughts on it at the bottom of the post.

Chapter 9
Fired

Topher has literally risked his life to get back to the studio to film an important episode of his show when his producer, Frank, summons him to his office looking furious.


“I knew you were a scumbag, but this is low!” he yelled.

Frank’s face was as red and swollen as his wife’s vagina after our lovemaking. That was my opener when I walked into the room, hoping to diffuse the situation. It didn’t work, but at least I had a funny anecdote to use when I told people about it later.

“You had sex? I thought you just kissed!”

I tried lie #1. “It’s not what you think. She must have had sex with a guy who looked like me. You know how small her brain can be sometimes.”

Lie #1 backfired, which it often does. Luckily I don’t always start off with my strongest lies.


Lesson:

Don’t waste your good lies early. You want to have a couple of great options to fall back on.


“Shit,” I said without missing a beat, “I meant, whoever told you this is obviously a big liar. I say we buckle down and find out who this person is, what they want, and why they’re trying to frame me-”

“I saw you! I have video of you two kissing!” he shouted, pointing at his office security camera.

“Can I have a copy?”

He whizzed a stapler at me, but my lightning reflexes kicked in and my hand blocked it, which broke my pinky instantly.

“Frank, just calm down. You have to understand. I didn’t know she was your wife. I thought she was your daughter.”

He whizzed his other stapler at me, but I was too busy wondering why he had two staplers to block it in time.

He hissed at me, “You’re fired. We’re having you replaced with Glen River Howard.”

Glen River Howard was a two-bit Youtube host at best, and the closest thing I had to a rival.

“Don’t be a stupid asshole, Frank. Glen River Howard doesn’t have half my talent, and I’ve seen him make eyes at your wife. You don’t want two guys screwing your wife, do you?”

He feverishly searched for something to throw at me, but there was only paper. “You may be hot shit right now, but I’m going to make sure everyone knows what you really are: a selfish, sociopathic prick.”

I needed to get him back on my side. “I hate to say this, but you’re sounding like a really big, dumb asshole right now.”

Judging by his heaving chest, it didn’t work. Luckily instead of finding another stapler to throw at me, he quickly composed himself and sat down.

“Get out.” His eyes darted down to his desk. He couldn’t even make eye contact with me. It was a good thing since I was checking my phone anyway.

Things were looking grim. Frank was completely ruining my big break. There had to be something I could do.

The chemicals in my brain started to churn, which meant I was getting a great idea.

“Who else knows, Frank?” I asked.

“I’m making the announcement after you leave,” he said, the wind out of his sails.

I stood there, weighing my options: Leave a shamed man, and work my way back up the entertainment ladder. Or…

He pretended to shuffle and sign some papers. “You’re still here? What part of leave didn’t you understand?”

I slowly walked to the door and locked it.

“What are you doing?-”

My wingtip smashed into his face with one of my patented front kicks, which I was hoping would knock him out instantly, but it didn’t so I had to keep kicking.

After about 46 kicks I stopped and he was out cold. With my shoes bloody and weathered, I had no choice but to take Frank’s. I know what this sounds like: I beat a man to near death after sleeping with his wife, and then stole his shoes. I guess while that is literally what happened, it makes me sound less heroic. I stuffed him in his closet and tied him up, but I made sure to leave a note:

note

I told myself that after I filmed this last episode of “Do You Have Your Keys?” and got a new dynamite hosting gig, I’d buy new teeth for Frank. After all, I didn’t want to hurt him. I was just doing what I had to do. It’s not like I was a monster.

I rifled through his desk for other things that I could steal when there was a knock on the door, and I saw the silhouettes of two suited men through the opaque glass.


 

Some of my thoughts:

A lot of this chapter is still pretty messy, focusing more on the comedy than brilliant prose. That’s something I want to work on as it develops. First and foremost with this book are the laughs though, and I think this chapter gives a good indication of Topher’s unapologetic nature.

So far I’m about 34,000 words in with an aim of about 40-45k words total. The chapters are meant to be small, around the length of the chapter above to make it a nice, tight read.

I can’t wait to get done with the full first draft and appreciate any feedback or if you are aching to read some more, even if its very rough still.

Follow me on twitter @joecabello

Like my facebook page at facebook.com/joecabellowriter

Chapter 9 of my book? Who’s interested?

Hello!

I recently released the introduction chapter of my book, Lessons in Debauchery: The Topher Weyland Story. Read it here. Let me know what you think in the comments, please, but I bet it doesn’t give you much sense of the story and how it plays out, does it?

Well, I have a solution for that! I have Chapter 9 ready to roll out if there is enough interest in it.

I know what you’re thinking:

Chapter 9? Isn’t that like 9 chapters into the book? Start with, I don’t know, Chapter 1?

That’s actually a really good idea, but Chapter 9 is the only really polished chapter (although I’m sure they will all get heavily edited by the time it’s official “done.” Either that or burned in a insurance fraud house fire). It’s exceptionally funny, if I’m allowing myself to toot my own horn, and I’d love some feedback.

If this post gets enough likes or comments I’ll share it ASAP!

 

The Introduction Chapter to my book “Lessons in Debauchery: The Topher Weyland Story”

I am pleased to release the introduction chapter of my book on my blog! It’s got a couple of jokes in it, you know. No big deal. You can also download it in PDF if that’s what you’re into. Let me know what you think, and pass it along to your friends and enemies.

The book is an adventure comedy about an aspiring TV personality who gets recruited by the CIA to be a distraction, but things quickly get out of hand when he forces himself into their mission and is thrust into saving the world.

Lessons In Debauchery:
The Topher Weyland Story

(PDF DOWNLOAD HERE)

Introduction

My name is Topher Weyland, and if you’re reading this I’m already dead.

Assuming you’re reading this 50+ years after I’ve written it, because I’d be far too old to still be alive. Unless, of course, they’ve made some kind of robot body to put my consciousness in after my human body withers and dies. Then you have to ask, is it really even me anymore?

But those aren’t the questions we’re going to ask or answer in this book. Well, maybe we will ask them later. I can’t say. It never made much sense to me to write the intro after you’ve written the book, and I don’t like playing by the rules. Not even my own. Either way, we definitely won’t answer those questions.

This book is going to be filled with lessons, which are a lot like rules except you don’t have to follow them. Avoid rules. They’re too constraining. There’s no rule book for life, right? If there was, a million idiots would probably buy it.

I love lessons, because unlike rules, you can’t be punished for not following them. My favorite thing about life is you can keep repeating your mistakes until you’re dead or you get a girl pregnant. Luckily I’m sterile, but you’ll learn about that later.

I’d like to say I’m an every man, but I’m not. I’m the type of guy who can’t be grouped in a “type of guy” classification. I’m one-of-a-kind. The purpose of this book is to reach out to the one, or maybe two other men out there who are also one-of-a-kind. (And to gloat about my accomplishments, of course.)

This book will explore the very nature of what it means to be a human. A human man named Topher Weyland. From Sunnyvale, California. Social security ending in 6578.

If you’re curious about how I look, here is a picture of me a computer might make:

computer drawing

Here is a picture of me a small child made:

child drawing

(Just kidding. I drew it, but in the style of a small child. That’s how talented I am)

I’m about to tell you biggest adventure of my life, which has been “my life.” Hell, it’s all been an adventure, right? Even if I’ve only been in one high-speed chase… a day. I’ll also throw in a couple of lessons along the way. The kind of lessons the one person this book is written for can learn from.

For good measure. Here are a couple of lessons everyone can learn from:

  • Don’t touch that.
  • Look out.
  • Don’t write checks that your ass can’t cash, because your ass doesn’t look like its ID picture anymore, which was taken 20 years ago.
  • Pushups are the only exercise worth doing.

Follow me on my journey from a child, to becoming the hottest up-and-coming television personality, to an American spy, to an astronaut, to a sex slave, and all the way back again.

By the end of this book, I promise, you will have read the whole thing.


Let me know what you think and if you’d like to see more chapters. I’ll definitely post more if there’s more demand.

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