Hey, folks. I want to talk about the six imams who were kicked off the U.S. Air flight in Minneapolis.
Now, first off, I would have let the six Imans on, because I think she's stunning. And besides, her old man, Bowie, could have jumped on the in-flight P.A. and sang "Heroes" to the guy willing to sit next to the emergency exit.
What's that? Oh, imams! Imams. All right.
Let me speak openly to our Islamic brethren. OK, straight up? Since 9/11, we're afraid of you on planes. Now, we get hammered by the P.C. cops if we say that, but for the most part we just zip it up.
But we're nothing if not Pavlov's dog. And as far as you guys and air travel go, the old Skinner box has been yielding us more shocks than corn kernels, as of late.
Consequently, almost everybody on the plane is watching you, even if you're not chanting and ordering fat guy seat belts when you're not fat.
As a matter of fact, I'll go so far as to say that someone who is not keeping an eye on a group of six imams chanting in an airport waiting area and then spreading out on a plane and behaving in a disruptive manner, well, that person is swimming so far upstream against the basic human wiring of common sense and survival instincts that if one could just capture the contrary energy of the synaptic maelstrom going on inside their feverish, brainwashed, nonjudgmental little skull, you could power the massive turbines of the very 757 you're flying on.
And certainly, the fair-minded amongst the Islamic community understand all of this. Come on. Give us something to work with. We're predisposed to like mostly everybody, because it makes the day go smoother.
But help us out here. Where are the Islamic Serpico's? Come on. Put your sandals in our shoes.
Hey, you tell me exactly what has happened over the last half-century in the macro, in the last five years in the micro, that would make you think that you are the one group of people we wouldn't be suspicious of on a plane?
UNIDENTIFIED MALE: It's cool y'all. It's cool y'all. We got this! Get security up in here.
MILLER: You know, I can form a conspiracy theory about the little old Asian woman sitting next to me who won't share the armrest.
And if I try to sneak on an extra thimbleful of Prell onto the plane, I'm jacked up against the wall being cavity searched by a triple-XL glove sized patriot who then flips me upside down to re-create the trailer for "Midnight Express" by whacking the bottom of my feet like Keith Moon with a Buford Puser stick.
But you guys start singing "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall" in Farsi and nobody is supposed to notice? Come on, guys. Destroy us if you must, but just don't play us for chumps.
Back to you, Fred and Barney.
