'Poop On A Plane'

"Oh no you didn't!" I think to myself as I click on the link called "Poop On A Plane" in the Entertainment section of CNN.com. While everyone I know is hating on the upcoming film/Internet phenomenon "Snakes On A Plane," I was almost hurt to see such a reputable news outlet outright blast the film which, to my knowledge, has yet to be screened. Sure, chances are "S.O.A.P." will suck harder than your momma ever could, but that's the beauty of it -- you know you're about to waste six hours of your life (90-120 minutes of actual film time, 240 minutes of beating your head against the wall, whining, trying unsuccessfully to kick Ostrich's ass).

I can think of bigger wastes of time. Here's one that all can agree on -- work. See? Would you rather "S.O.A.P." yourself or work? Okay, yeah, work pays you, blah blah blah. Damn you and your logic.

Here's a bigger waste of time -- watching a film called "Poop On A Plane." Actually, maybe it wouldn't be that big a waste of time. How's this for a plot?

A worldwide criminal organization is out to kill a high-ranking foreign emissary/rival drug lord who is traveling to the U.S. Thinking outside the box, they use their inside men at the airport to fill the plane's air vents with cow manure. While it's now difficult to get beverages and hair gel through security, incendiary devices are still a piece of cake to slip through -- all a person has to do is stick it up his ass. The saboteurs reason that the combination of fire and cow manure is all you need to blow the plane to smithereens.

The triggerman is a shit-out-of-luck spy codenamed Shitty Spy. He's caught by the bad guys and offered an ultimatum -- stick a flamethrower up his ass and fart into the plane's air vents, thereby igniting the cow manure and blowing up the plane, or watch as they kill his goldfish Myrtle. Meanwhile, bad-ass former FBI Agent-turned-mercenary Samuel L. Jackson is tapped by the U.S. government to rescue Shitty Spy for no good reason.

Skipping to the action, things go wrong on the plane and shit starts to leak everywhere. To make things worse, the toilet overflows because Jessica Simpson (who stars in the film as herself) didn't follow the "wipe, wipe, flush" rule, mixing the corn poop, diarrhea and cow manure into a mess all throughout the plane. The smell causes people to begin vomiting, and as they run from aisle to aisle in search of barf bags, they slip and tumble every which way because of the poop (this sequence takes place in double speed with the "Benny Hill" theme playing in the background). Because he is the shit himself, Samuel L. Jackson is immune to the smell and to the loss of traction that the others experience. But can Jackson reach Shitty Spy in time and stick his hand up his ass before Shitty Spy finishes eating a can of beans? Who knows?!!! But isn't it worth $15 at the Arclight to find out?

Ostrich -- Snakes On A Mother-Fuckin' Plane, Bitch!

(Oh yeah. So the CNN.com link just talked about how snake poop was everywhere during the filming of "S.O.A.P." Cool huh. Check it out.)

A Game Of Butts Up?

As most of you know, I have been looking for a new job. Recently, I interviewed for a job at our rival company whom we shall heretofore refer to as BigBalls.

Long story short, if I didn't get the job, I would have still left my current job -- I need to move up in the world. In fact, I've been contemplating leaving the industry altogether, even without having another job lined up. A little vacation, freelance work and maybe even starting my own business again could be awesome in the long run!

The game has changed since the interview. BigBalls' daddy has bought our company. A transition team is ushering along the merger -- very poorly I must add. What does this mean for Ostrich?

It means Ostrich and his comrades will be the unwilling participants in a game of career Butts Up! Whenever anyone at work asks me what I think will happen when the suits come in next week, here's what I tell them:

"The suits will tell us to line up against the wall. They'll instruct us to turn around, place our hands on the wall, and arch our backs so our asses become supple targets. From there, they will unveil red rubber balls from their bag of goodies -- an instrument used to determine who shall stay and who shall go. When they hurtle the balls at our asses, we shall have the opportunity to dodge and shift, yet most likely the ball will come so hard and fast that our efforts will be futile. In the end, only a few will be left standing along the wall, and the rest will get a nice thank-you-for-playing note that reads, 'You're fired, bitch!'"

So the question is: How much should Ostrich stick his ass out? Should he move it from side to side to make it a more luscious target? Should he try to dodge the balls so he can work alongside BigBalls? There are so many scenarios, but only one thing is certain. I have to wait and see what my fate will be, lest I miss out on finding out what lies behind door No. 3: A severance package, unemployment checks, a dark void...who knows what it could be.

While I've realized that almost every scenario means Ostrich ends up in a better situation, the prolonged wait has been taking its toll on my mind, my sleep schedule, my focus at work (you know, where else would I blog?). It's been pretty nerve-wrecking for the past few weeks.

Oh well. Despite the uncertainty, I'm glad that it takes just a little bit of sunshine to brighten one's day :)