AmazonAir
By amordantbaron
- 757 reads
AmazonAir by JB Pravda
As the jet taxied to its runway takeoff position, spirits were as lofty
as the assigned cruising altitude; the world's first feminine airline:
founded, run and staffed by the majority gender on the globe. Even the
motif for the planes' d?cor was decopage and matrices of striking hues
of pink, a high camp self-mockery that even the few male ground crew
dug.
The inaugural flight was a VIP event, drawing attention from the
male-run media akin to aging quarterback second-stringers marveling at
the surprising sexiness of the cheerleading captains they never did
bed.
At 36,000 feet it happened: with recorders still running fore and aft,
including the cockpit (known on this flightdeck as 'chickpit', the
former achievers founders' initial marketing ploy which had attracted
so much initial capital from a syndicate of women calling themselves
Crashers of the Glass Ceiling, both metaphors too compellingly
existential to be missed) she emerged.
Aboard double AA flight C38----another gimmick they insisted upon, the
FAA guys having acceded, predictably, to the uniquely memorable system
of numeration----were several male moguls from various businesses
associated with both media and travel; an impromptu news conference was
now being held and beamed live to the universe.
Now, they would have to listen: spokesperson Zelda Rubenstein, sometime
novelty movie doyen, standing at 4' 8" on a leather seat in a section
of the plane they called Head of the Class, spoke: "Gentlemen, I
assume, and Ladies, I'm sure" she began, evoking juvenile laughter from
these VIP males.
"Silence!" her surprisingly potent voice commanded; "You boys think
that it's all a big joke, don't ya. Well, we've got some surprises for
y-o-u!", hopping down from her perch with ageless agility, Zelda
cartwheeled her way down the aisle halfway, and then began a strip
show, each time revealing what looked like tatooes of bright color and
strange design, almost Celtic or some other ancient symbology.
"That's right, they're the mark of leadership, power, not a penis among
em???you might have noticed them painted on the wings, that is if you
weren't so hung up with your 'smokin in the boys' room'
mentality."
As she peeled yet another item of dress away the climax was near. "Now,
pay attention, this one was worn on her breastplate, you hairy hormone
mutants----that's right?..all vertebrates began life as female embryos,
we just stayed perfect." A gorgeous geometric pattern was seen,
resembling a tetrahedron within a sphere, with detail not seen until
computer graphics had, seemingly, made them possible.
"This one is the Womb of the Universe, according to even the best male
archaeologists; she, matriarch of the Amazon tribe, wore it when she
slept, by her choice, with Alexander the Great------for three
consecutive nights! As the story goes, written by male scribes, mind
you, she was not impressed."
Zelda slowly reached for her last vestment's zipper, a lattice work of
explosives strapped to her now nakedly bizarre body. "So long suckers,
see ya in the next dimension?.where we will rule!" She pushed the
button.
A loud piercing alarm had been activated???then rock music, vintage
unknown.
Snooze.
"Another day in paradise??.it's 6 a.m. in LA LA land??the top story is
the mid-air explosion of an airplane, details are sketchy, but the word
we get is that a buncha top execs were aboard for some big promo event
for a, get this, all women's airline! So much for 'save the Amazon',
huh!?" the loud-mouth shock jock wannabe blurted.
Zelda slowly walked to her closet, reaching for a heavy-looking vest;
she put on some coffee and flipped open the phone book to WKLA, 1009 La
Cienega.
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