Well, well, well. The gang’s all here. And by “the gang,” I mean me, this awesome sex scene, and everyone else on the plane. That’s right, we’re floating perilously 30,000 feet above the earth, which means there is a 0% chance any of you are stopping me from getting aroused as I nurse my ginger ale.
I mean, if you’ve got a problem with it, you’re more than welcome to leave. Oh, wait, you can’t. Because we’re screaming through the troposphere at 500 MPH. I mean, you could always ask the people in the emergency exit row if they can help you open the doors. The flight attendants made them promise they would before they sat down. And while that’s a binding legal agreement, I don’t expect any of them to honor it.
Speaking of legalities, I challenge any of you to try to take my laptop by force. I’ll film it, put it on the internet, and make it seem like YOU’RE the unruly passenger. Then I’ll sue, and we’ll have to play the sex scene in court. Forcing you to watch it all over again, but this time as I take all your money.
And besides, if HBO didn’t want anybody watching these scenes on a flight, they would have added a warning. So as far as I’m concerned, I’m watching these scenes exactly as the creators intended, and helping them carry out their artistic vision. So let’s face it. You’re fucked. Just like all the people in the sex scene currently blaring through my gigantic 18-inch laptop screen.
And to those of you wondering why I can’t just wait until I get to my hotel room to watch Caligula, I’d like to say, “Good question. Fuck you.” Because I paid for this flight. And I’ll be damned if I’m inconvenienced for any amount of time by anyone for any reason.
Go ahead, tell yourself you’re going to do something about this. Sure, just as soon as we touch ground, you’re going to figure out which part of the airport handles passenger conduct complaints and march straight there and give them a piece of your mind! Cut to, we land, and you get up, and the blood rushes to your legs, and your ears pop, and you’re tired, and you’re at the airport, and all you want to do is get the fuck out of there.
By the time you get your bag, you won’t even be sure if I was real. Trust me, I’ve been doing this a long time. And I’ll be doing it longer still. Now, are you gonna keep whinnying about it, or are you gonna sit down and watch Malcolm McDowell get his fuck on?
