Two men sit on stage in chairs, side by side. They're on an airplane flight. The man on the left, TONY, is visibly nervous. He flips through a "SkyMall" magazine to try to calm down before hyperventilating into a brown bag. He squirms around in the seat, checking his seatbelt, looking around at other passengers, looking out the window. The man to Tony's right, PETE, listens to an iPod. Noticing Tony's discomfort, he pulls out an earbud, smiles, and in a pleasent manner asks-

Pete: Afraid of flying?

Tony: Flying? Flying? No. I'm not afraid of flying.

Pete: Okay. You seem a little... jumpy, is all.

Tony: No, Flying is fine. Flying I understand. It's simple physics. Basic fluid mechanics.

Pete: Well good! I myself like flying. It's quite relaxing.

Pete puts his earbud back in. Tony starts figiting again. He checks under his seat. He adjusts the air conditioner. He looks back out the window, to the back of the plane, to the front of the plane. Pete pretends not to notice, but finally has to ask-

Pete: Okay I don't need to be nosey-I know what it's like to sit next to a busybody-but you seem quite scared.

Tony: Scared? I'm terrified.

Pete: But you just said-

Tony: Not of flying. No, I'm quite confident in Bernoulli's principles of flight, I know how the plane is flying. That's the least of my worries.

Pete: So what are you-

Tony: Afraid of? Where do I begin!? Take a look four rows back, for example. See that obese kid who keeps sniffling? He thinks it's just a cold but wait till he goes to the doctor. Now I'm no doctor, but I've heard a cold sniffle. That's no ordinary sniffle. You ask me, he's got something serious- sinustis most likely, sinus infection. And you think that's nothing but let it go untreated, next thing you know it's in your brain, next think you know you don't know anything anymore cause your six feet underneath some freshly laid sod. And the only thing protecting me from an eternity as worm excrement right now is four rows of humans and some moldy chairs.

Pete: I have hand sanitizer if you'd like.

Tony: I'd be better off rubbing rat poison between my fingers. But I'm just getting started. Because if the sinus infection isn't scary enough, how about the fact that the couple in row 14 are most likely terrorist who plan on taking down the plane in the name of Allah.

Pete turns around to see who Tony is talking about.

Pete: You mean that nice looking Indian people? With their two kids? They're just a family, they're probably on vacation or something.

Tony: God damn it man, that's just what they want you to think. They're way too Indian. Look at them. His oversized glasses and funny teeth, her ethnic garb. The way they speak with "dat funny ak-sent." They are straight out of a SNL sketch. Perfect examples of everything Indians are.

Pete: So because they're so Indian...

Tony: Atta boy. You catch on quick. See their daughter? Look how she laughs at everything the son says. No one is that funny, especially eight year olds. She's laughing at the stupidity of the TSA agent who let them through airport security. Give it five minutes and they'll be screaming about the death of the capitalist tyranny and how we're immoral, heathaness bastards. In six minutes we'll be barbequed in the side of some major American monument.

Pete: You're so racist.

Tony: And that's not even the half of it! Tell me, oh wise man, what do you think of our flight attendent.

Pete: He's quite friendly.

Tony: No no. Not Mr. "I'm just checking that your bags are properly stowed and certainly not riffling through your shit." Blondie over there.

Pete: Oh. She's cute enough.

Tony: Cute? I'd say she's pretty god damn gorgeous. And our pilot? He's a real catch himself. If our jihadist plane-mates don't act soon, their antics will get us first.

Pete: Antics?

Tony: Have you seen Pan-Am? Planes are proverbial sex houses where horny pilots and horny flight attendents come together for passion filled mile high orgy fests. The co-pilot isn't too bad looking- my guess is a three-way. And, when the flight attendent sneezes, from her budding case of sinutis, courtesy of "Chubs" back theree, she'll accidently flip the autopilot off with the heel of her stiletto. If we don't go plummeting to the ground right then and there, the sudden surprise interuption of their cockpit cockplay by Mr. and Mrs. Bin Laden will certainly do us in.

Pete: You're nuts.

Tony: I'm nuts? What about the guy over there getting shit faced on watered down over priced mini bottles of vodka.

Pete: So what?

Tony: So what? I'll tell you so what? See the bulge in his jacket pocket? See his standard issue, "normal guy" black shoes? That man's our "Sky Marshall." And seeing as he couldn't hit the blind side of a barn with a beachball in the state he's in, I'd say it's a pretty safe bet we're on our own with these guys. With any luck he'll fire off a couple rounds, miss completely, and hit mister sniffles-migee back there.

Pete takes a deep breath.

Pete: Anything else making you nervous?

Tony: (getting faster and more frantic as the monologue continues)

As a matter of fact there is. This chair has a broken spring which could lead to spinal stenosis, my window has a crack in it, the items in the SkyMall magazine signal to me the fall of American civilization, there's a misspelling in today's Crossword, the woman in C2 is a Wiccan, B3 is a psychopath, and B2 is suicidal. And if that's not a recipe for a messed-up flight, I don't know what is! There are at least four but as many as seven individuals on this plane who ate at the airport Taco-Bell before boarding. Worst yet the overpriced ticket I paid for this underwhelming experience tells me this whole airplane industry isn't what it's cracked up to be, and pretty soon in our declining economic times, people will find better and safer ways of traveling like busses and trains. Without planes, fuel consumption in America will go down, but so will prices, leading to an overall gain in consumption. Depleted ozone layers won't stand a chance. Next thing you know will all be walking hotdogs burning in a bath of tastey uv rays. Skin cancer will be as common as mosquito bites. With rampant skin cancer, health care prices will rise higher and higher, and with it, wages will have to be decreased as health care benefits increase. Soon, no one will make enough money to purchase any goods, world markets will collapse, and a worldwide dictatorship will form under some nutjob preaching freedom from the perils of the free market enterprise that got us in the mess to begin with. Our friends back there will be thrilled along with the rest of their Jihadist buddies, but me? I'll be shot at a protest in Washington DC for carrying a sign that says "Down with the Commies!" And then I'll spend a miserable existence as WORM SHIT. So am I afraid of flying? Fuck no. I'm afraid of everything else on this god-damn plane.

Tony pants heavily. Pete is stunned.

Tony: Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go back to quitely panicking on my own, and not answering every stupid prick who thinks planes are so fucking relaxing.

Tony goes back to staring out the window.

Pete: Sorry I asked.