At 16:19:14, on 01/31/2000, the Captain of Alaska Air 261 said, "I think it's controllable, we ought to just try to land it. You think so?" Two minutes later, answering his own question, as I often do, he said, "Okay, let's head for LA." Five seconds later, three loud noises are heard on the "Black Box" recorder, prompting the First Officer, after approximately eleven minutes of trying to regain control of the aircraft, to say the black juju word: "Mayday."
As a screenwriter with nothing optioned and nothing sold after a mere 25 years of effort, it would be difficult to steal the line uttered by the captain at 16:17:58 of, "I'm test flying now" (with an MD-80 full of people). The always notable last words originated with our First Officer at 16:20:56. They were, "Ah, here we go," as with into the Pacific Ocean off Port Hueneme, California.
Did you know while residing at 30 CENTRE STREET in CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE, it was PITCHFORK RECORDS that gave me a free calendar? In California, who holds the honor? That's the CITY OF PORT HUENEME. "Coincidence?" No, and neither was momma's fight in naming me "William" over "Charles." It is family legend someone wanted HH Sr./HH Jr. & CH Sr./CH Jr., and why all of the fuss? Try "William" as mom's clue to think outside the box about WILLIAM IV, and to borrow a favorite word from over at Russell's PREMIER INN, a "potential" WILLIAM V. Hey Beav, no wonder "they" discourage me from running for President of the United States--a lot. A whole lot, like designing an individualized "Assertive Community Torture Program." Oh, it's not new, and I'm not the only "target," so shut your trap, or debate this point on television.
I always wondered what all of those $5 bills from the uncles were about, plus a closet full of after shave and soap I finally tossed in January, 2001; something about cleaning up for a visit from a female Air Force brat, and have there not been enough of them in my life? Enough! Lousy .mil spies be gone! Nothing for you here, provocateur cuckoo-bird! Meantime, when I recover from the Stewart/Stuart punch in the gut, given the final chamber of this real-life Raiders of the Lost Arc tomb has been breached, maybe I will use, "Okay, let's kick rudder," and "Gimmie slats extended" when I get back to work, as I always do. After a Swiss Miss vacation, perhaps?
All of the spying, failed blackmail efforts, busted-up set up's, Mafia watchers, the many FISA "agents of a foreign power" I don't say so much as "Boo" to, asphyxiation attempts, druggings, hypnosis, "abduction teams" (all caught red-handed), spygirls exposed, thoroughly bugged & itty bitty camera-filled Big Brother Houses, (not a "reality show" you'd want), extremist cuckoos, free air shows, hacked computers, seized property, aliases (theirs, not mine), repeated visits from the USA underworld's iconic "hitman," gov'ment drones posing as UFO's, fake Star Trek sets, a false psych Dx or two, double-digit physical ailments I do not have, nutcases in the "Computer Lab" hacking this piece in real time, etc. etc. etc.
It all makes sense now.
1985: "The one that got away" fell in with the descendant of a baby floated down the river. Nutjobs, take note: These here rowdy colonies are my problem, not yours. And, per usual, you've all incriminated yourselves, because it's only a question of how many "greats" before grandpa's name. That's GEORGE III, to you, nimrod.
What a loser! What a f---ing mess!
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