Hi there, stranger (or not stranger)
Below is a fictionalization of 9/11 that I wrote just now. It contains some offensive stuff, so if you’re the moderate-easily offended type I suggest you close the tab now so your day isn’t ruined.
For the rest, I put a somewhat amount of effort into writing and editing it, and I’m fairly proud of the results. It was comedy that got me into writing, and every now and then accomplishments like these make me feel like I haven’t lost it yet. Then again, maybe I should lose it.
White house, USA
“I hate the arabs.” Said George Bush
“I know, right? Arabs suck.” replied Dick Cheney.
“I want to kill arabs.” Said George Bush
“So let’s attack them.” Replied Dick Cheney.
“Would it be too obvious if I attacked arabs, that I hated them?” Said George Bush.
“Yep.” Said Dick Cheney.
“Oh I know what,” said George Bush, “I will destroy some American Buildings, and say the Arabs did it.”
“Great idea, I think them new twin towers will be perfect.” Said Dick Cheney.
“Here’s the plan.” Said Osama Bin Laden.
“What do you want my men to do?” Said Barack Obama.
“Okay, so we send three teams onto three airplanes.” Said Osama.
“Our airplanes?” Said Obama.
Osama smacked Obama in the buttocks. “No you idiot, we hijack their airplanes.”
“You… you hit me.” Said Obama. “You’ve never done this before. You’ve hurt my feelings. I thought you loved me.”
“I just use you for the sex, what’re you gonna do about it you little bitch?” Osama said as he fucked Obama.
“You know, one day I will fake my birth certificate and become president of United States and kill you and your whole family with a seal team!”
Osama laughed: “yeah, right you worthless woman”
“I’ll get a sex change and get a black wife as well!” Screamed Obama as she climaxed.
“What the hell?” Suddenly Osama stopped thrusting. “Women can’t have orgasms! This is heresy! Guards, kill him!”
“I just wanted to be gaaaayyyyyyy” squealed Obama as he ran out of Iran, crying.
Mission briefing room, CIA
Dick Cheney lays a diagram of the world trade center, and points at it.
“Okay George. While your stunt double – you know the guy who makes policy? The guy that looks like you – that guy? The guy that says and does things in congress…. Errrrrm… the guy that fucks Laura?”
“Right. That idiot.” Nodded Bush
Cheney: “Yep, what a douche. Anyway, while that guy is reading books to Children.”
Bush snickers: “reading, hehehehe”
“You will be infiltrating New York and blowing up the World Trade Center.” Cheney points at the diagram again.
Cheney continues: “While the World trade Center is virtually impenetrable unless you have a visitor’s permit, which you don’t, it does have one weakness.”
“nukular bomb?” suggested Bush.
Cheney points at a specific part of the diagram: “Don’t be silly, nuclear bombs are too dangerous. The entirety of the World Trade Center is supported on a single plastic strut. Break it, and the entire structure collapses. Problem is, the only way to get to that plastic strut is a 10 feet wide exhaust port which you have to shoot through from this position 60 feet away.”
Cheney continues: “I only have one rocket for your launcher. I mean, I could get more from the armory, but that would be suspicious.”
“A ten feet wide hole to shoot through from 60 feet away? That’s… crazy! Nobody can make that shot, not even a computer!” gasped Bush.
“Just trust your instincts, George, and everything will be alright.” Said Cheney.
“Golly gee, you’re so smart” said Bush who pauses for a bit: “But wouldn’t someone see the explosion?”
Cheney: “This is where the genius of the plan comes in- I’ve sent the same diagram here to Al Qaeda, but the trick is, I told them that the weakness of the building is a 200 ton plane flying into it at 300 miles an hour, and they believed it, the idiots!”
Bush: “That’s awful technical but do go on.”
Cheney: “So, they’re going to fly a plane into the building as a distraction, and I want you to- at just that moment fire the missile, the sound of the plane crashing into the building will conceal the shot. And you know the best part?”
Bush was clearly excited now: “What’s the best part?”
Cheney: “They’re going to provide the planes for free!”
Bush high-fived Cheney, laughing.
Check in counter, Airport.
“Sir, what is that?” Said the security man.
The supervisor noticed the security man’s racial profiling, and put on the “we talked about this” look.
“What is what?” Said Arab Terrorist (note: redundant) #1.
“That thing you’re holding, it looks like an AK47.”
“That… is my walking stick.” Said the Arab.
The supervisor was now trying to get the security man’s attention by waving. The security man waved back, then continued interrogating the Arabs.
“So you’re saying that you and the gentlemen with you are all crippled?”
The supervisor face palmed.
“Handicapped, Mister. Please be sensitive to our injuries.”
“And why do the walking sticks look like AK47s again?”
The supervisor ran towards the security man.
“Oh that, it’s just latest fashion from Russia.”
The supervisor reached the security man just in time for the security man to notice him.
The security man got the message, and turned back to the Arabs, just as the supervisor noticed that the AKs were in fact AKs.
“Who am I to argue with fashion? Welcome aboard!”
The supervisor facepalmed again. Well, whose to say the Arabs weren’t being honest?
United Airlines Flight 93 to San Francisco
Obama sat in his seat, thinking: “Just a little while longer, and then I can be gay.”
That’s when he noticed the man beside him: “Shaheeb, is that you?”
Shaheeb, who was wearing a Muslim robe and holding his AK47 returned the surprised expression: “Holy shit, Obama! How are you doing, man?”
Obama: “Good to see you! Last I saw you were trying out for the Al Qaeda acapella group, how you’ve been?”
Shaheeb: “Fine, fine. Damn. Remember when we met? You were so good to me, always inviting me to your place and giving me secret gravy through the sausage that I was not allowed to eat, only suck. It was nice of you to share the culture of the Shias. I mean, I never liked the gravy, but it’s the thought that counts. Before I met you I thought that Shias were all misguided homosexuals, but now I am reconsidering.”
“I am a Shia muslim.” Obama confirmed. He was just about to say: “so what are you doing here?”
But halfway through his sentence, Shaheeb shushed him, excitedly: “Oh here it comes here it comes!”
A lone Arab voice thunders through the plane: “Do you hear the people sing”
A second joins: “Singing the song of angry men”
Then a third, Shaheeb’s: “It is a music of a people who want 72 virgins”
“When we die for the jihad, we will fuck little girls, like the prophet Mohammed did before us…”
The production of these gun slinging Arabs is beautiful, melodic, the vocal chords pinging off each other and it is obvious the men have practiced long for their performance.
After 30 minutes of pure melodic bliss, the Arabs leave the stage that is the seats and aisles and retreat into the backstage of the cockpit.
“That was a great performance” said the pilots as tears swelled over their eyes. “Here, you wanna try the controls?”
The plane made a u-turn, and nobody seemed to mind – every one of them having fallen asleep with smiles on their faces to the soothing music, except for Obama: “What are you doing? This isn’t the direction of San Francisco!”
Obama bolted to the cockpit: “East wards? Shaheeb, what is this?”
Shaheeb: “We’re going to fly plane into building.”
Obama: “You can do that in San Francisco!”
Shaheeb: “But by then they will know we are coming, also the plane will use too much fuel to be an effective missile.”
Obama: “But you don’t understand, I have to go to San Fransisco! I mean, you should understand more than anybody… after all you sucked my dick!”
The guy flying the plane looked back at Shaheeb, mouth in a wide smile: “What?”
Shaheeb: “No I did not.”
Obama: “Then why were you so complacent to stroke the sausage?”
Shaheeb: “I was blindfolded – ugh, I thought it was a Shia tradition!”
The terrorist on the controls burst out laughing. HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA
Shaheeb was very annoyed right now, as the Arab pilot let go of the controls, clutching his guts in the laughter. “Oh my Allah you are a-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA”
Obama: “You even said you loved me.”
Shaheeb: “You thought I was – uh – As a brother! not as a – what – lover?”
Obama stood back, a betrayed brothers can’t be lovers? look on his face. “First Osama, and now you. FUCK THIS.” Obama said as he stormed off the plane, and opened his fabulous rainbow parachute gliding to safety.
Shaheeb to the piloting Arab: “What are you laughing at, you’re in a fucking acapella group.”
The pilot struggled with his words inbetween bursts of laughter “But… at least… I didn’t…. suck… hee heee… someone’s dong… HEEEEHEEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA” he was hysterical.
Shaheeb was furious: “You mother fucker.” And bashed the pilot in the back of his head with the butt of his AK, knocking him out cold.
The other terrorist who was in the copilot seat listening to Britney Spears paused his Walkman: “What the fuck did you do, that was our only pilot!”
Shaheeb: “How about the American pilots…. Shit.” He said just as he turned around to face the front window in time to spot an ant on the ground, and the ground behind the ant which they were crashing into.
Osama bin Laden studied the plans of the twin towers.
His right hand man who he renamed Obama #2 stood at his right hand, reading the plans.
“You know, I think I see a weakness.” Said Obama #2, pointing at the plastic strut that supports the entire world trade center complex.
“I don’t see it”
“Right here, see. And there’s this convenient exhaust port at the side that we can shoot into with a rocket launcher. In fact, we don’t even need weapons. Just some guy with a welding torch will do.”
“I still don’t see it.”
“Look, right here. We can attack this from a distance, and viola – terrorism accomplished without sacrificing any of our assets, and without making air travel super bitchy.”
“I don’t see it.”
“Look, Osama. Should I just call off the attack? There’s still time.”
Osama suddenly stares at Obama #2, annoyed: “Don’t you dare call me Osama. From now on, its either Bin or Laden. Only Obama can call me by my first name.”
“Okay, Bin Laden. Just, right there, that’s the easy way – the good way.”
“Don’t see it, don’t see it, I still don’t see it!” Bin Laden rages at first, then calms down. His tone shifts as he forgets he is a terrorist. “I never see a good thing until its gone. Obama…”
George W. Bush sits perched on a building directly adjacent to the towers, dressed in white because goddam the blacks and peered at his target. His position was perfect. He studied his launcher for a moment, and found a logo: Designed in the United States. Underneath in small print: Assembled in China.
“Sneaky outsourcin.” He thought to himself. He keyed his super-secret encrypted radio: “Bush to Dick, I’m in position for maximum penetration.”
“Dick to Bush, roger that. Remember how to shoot?”
“Point launcher at target, and pull the trigger. I see the target just fine from here.”
“Yepper, stay frosty out there. Remember to synchronize your shot with the airplane”
“Cyanide – a – what now?”
“Don’t make me fire you, Dick.”
“Awright. Erm, I meant… uh… shoot at the same time the airplane hits the building.”
“Then we can go killer’s some muslims?”
“Well, we have to make speeches first and declare wars an’ such, but yeah, soon.”
Bush slid the missile into the launcher as he heard the distant rumbling of a jet engine. This is it.
He heaved the launcher over his shoulder, targeted the strut in the crosshairs and got a satisfying “beep”: Target Acquired.
He shut his eyes tightly for a moment, his finger accidentally slipped onto the trigger and the missile erupted from the launcher, throwing Bush back into the ground, startling him. Bush’s eyes propped wide open: “Ohhhh shit.”
The missile was a sleek green metal thing with highly vectorable fins for extreme maneuvering, a flashy monochrome LED display on its side (this was a demo unit for high speed cameras), guidance chip with a tube of solid fuel, formula configured for a powerful low altitude burn that gave the missile a 2 mile range, and the missile had a nice explosive warhead at its tip. While George was perceptive enough to spot the outsourcing to China, he didn’t notice that the missile itself had actually “components from Iran” tattooed on the chip inside. But its forgivable he didn’t notice it, after all the thing about presidents all having X-ray vision is only a Clinton myth.
In the half a millisecond the missile had launched, it’s targeting had been bypassed by its original programming. Or more likely, George was dumb enough to think he could target a plastic strut in guided mode. A green light replaced itself with red, and the LED display flashed: “INFIDEL AIRCRAFT AUTO ENGAGE”
The missile veered off its originally intended path to the face the oncoming 767, and Bush watched helplessly as the missile ascended towards the aircraft still in the process of veering over to face the towers, and that’s when he remembered his good buddy Cheney’s words. “Trust your instincts.”
He trusted his instincts, and his instincts trusted who else than god almighty? Through pure will alone, he slowed time down and prayed.
“Jesus? This is George. Yes, George W. Bush, that’s me. I don’t ask you for much, except every Christmas and during every exam and test in my life, during football games and every Sunday for no goddam reason other than to annoy you, and during those elections whoa lord knows that was a close one – thank you for dummin him down to my level but lord? Please stop givin AIDS to babies and listen for just one second. I really, really wanna kill some arabs and I can’t do that if these towers are still standin. Amen.”
Time stood still, then God answered: “Okay.”
In God we trust. God’s hand descended from the clouds and from beyond the nether, flicked the missile around and pointed it straight at the plastic strut. The missile’s display switched to PLASTIC STRUT TARGETED, and time resumed. The 767 had evaded destruction for 10 seconds longer than it should have, and smashed right into the building the same time Bush’s missile had hit the plastic strut, setting off a chain reaction of collapsing within the world trade center.
Bush clenched his heart, tears streaming down his face as he heard screams of horror from the street beneath. Yes! He’d seen the light, and he was on god’s side. He knew this was a just war, approved by the man upstairs himself. He took a second to recompose himself, put on his jet pack, engaged stealth mode and took off heading for his secret lair, reporting into the radio: “White cocks down, I repeat – white cocks down!”
Meanwhile, Arab Terrorist #1 watched as the Twin Towers, already crumbling, came into view. He squinted his eyes to confirm what he saw – yes, the South Tower was crumbling as well!
He excitedly announced into the comms: “Ladies and gentlemen, the twin towers have both been destroyed.”
The cabin responded with murmurs of disapproval.
“Don’t you know what this means?” Arab Terrorist #1 said happily: “Our mission was to destroy the South Tower, but now that it is already crumbling without our help, it means we’ll live! It means that you will live!” he said with cheerful relief.
The cabin cheered. Seems like they weren’t going to die after all. You gotta admit that even being held hostage at some random airport was a huge step up from crashing into a building at 300 miles an hour.
“Hey Tanner.” Arab Terrorist #1 said to Arab terrorist #2 who was named Tanner Johnson, “Abort mission.”
“I’m trying but the controls aren’t responding!” Panicked Tanner as the crumbling towers drew closer.
Just then, a fat white guy busted in the cockpit, AK in his hand, blood on his shirt and gloat on his face: “Haha terrorists, I killed your buddies, disabled your controls with my expert engineering knowledge and stopped your devious plans! Game over!”
Arab Terrorist #1 pointed at the towers behind him with his thumb: “You idiot. You just doomed us all.”
The fat white guy’s life flashed right in front of his eyes (lots of eating at McDonalds), overlaying the panicked people inside the tower as their gaze met his.
A 757 bound for LA
This was Stacy’s first day as an airline pilot. Stacy is a woman.
She has been told all her life that she was supposed to be bad at driving. So she drove and drove and drove, and became good at it. But people still expected her to be bad at driving, because she had big tits.
She thought “If I get a pilots uniform and stripes and people see that I’m qualified to fly a plane, then maybe they will stop expecting me to be bad at driving.”
But the only way to get stripes and stuff was to fly for an airline. So she worked hard and took her ADD meds, and sucked the airline boss’ dick, and eventually she was hired.
Her copilot, the captain, had accidentally downed one too many a drink after trying to chat up a stewardess by repeatedly buying her and himself drinks, and now needed to piss. He asked her to take over, and eager to prove herself she accepted the task.
Unfortunately, she forgot to take her Ritalin because she has ADD. Clearly being reliant on Ritalin is not a good trait to have in any profession – especially pilotry, but god-damn that was a good blowjob. She noticed something making circles in the air- a glimmer of distortion, but enough to attract her attention. It was coming at her from her left, one minute it was there but the next minute gone.
She HAD to find out what it was. She made a 180 and followed the distortion, which was leaving vaguely thin trails of mist in the air. Vague, but it wasn’t nothing, that was certain. The trails descended, so she descended too. She was gaining on the source of the distortions.
She was close enough – the source of distortions was at her right window now, she tilted her head as she tried to make out what it was. Suddenly she saw a face emerge from the distortions- “Huh! President Bush!” She covered her mouth to dampen her yelp. She stared at him, and he smiled, giving a wave in distortions resembling an arm. She waved back.
The arm-shaped distortions pointed at her, specifically at her chest, and the president was nodding as she found it. Flash the president? The one and only Mr. president? GLADLY. She giggled, lifted up her slutty pilot’s uniform (because the real one was uncomfortable to wear) exposing her bare breasts, the clothing covered her face but she didn’t care she was flashing the president omg. She jiggled a bit for assurance, then put the shirt back down, the president was gone. But the distortion was still there, and also, the distortion suddenly flared upwards.
What was the president up to? She needed to follow him. She put her hands back on the controls, heard a “WHAT THE” from the captain and looked forward, just in time to see the Pentagon smacking her in the face.
Bush’s secret lair (near the Pentagon)
The roofside hatch opened and a George W. Bush wearing a jetpack shaped distortion descended from it, exhaust fumes cooking the concrete floor below.
“Mission accomplished, Dick!” said Bush as he disengaged stealth mode, powering off his jetpack and removing it.
“And I just heard the loudest bang and felt the strongest earthquake.” Said Cheney
“That – ” Bush pointed at nothing in particular “- is because I saw the nicest pair of jugs.”
Bush grinned and Cheney had this how is one related to the other look on his face.
“The jugs were on a lady pilot.” Supplemented Bush.
“Ah. I see.” Said Cheney, walking to his Macbook. The top brass always get the best technology 5 years before the civilians. “wanna talk to the Arab who just helped us future kill some other Arabs?”
“Sure thing, Dick” said Bush, shedding off the rest of his gear.
Facetime, on military grade broadband.
“Hey Osama.” Said Cheney as the bearded terrorist appeared on screen.
“Why does he look so smudgy?” questioned Bush.
“Don’t be racist.” Said Cheney
“No, it’s okay. I’m just using Windows 98.” Said Osama, sighing and looking worse than before.
“Thanks for blowing up the Twin Towers for us, heh.” Says Bush, playfully nudging Cheney about their little inside scoop, but Osama wasn’t having it. It’s like he couldn’t care less.
An Arab hand put itself on Osama’s shoulder, trying to comfort him by saying: “It’s… it’s okay, Bin Laden. Maybe… Maybe he had like… a -um fabulous rainbow parachute and survived.”
That just made Osama worse, he was now visibly shaking.
The owner of the Arab hand put his face into the frame concealing Osama and said: “Sorry it seems Bin Laden is not feeling too well right now, perhaps you should call back later.”
“No it’s alright.” Said Bush who was now eating something because he was hungry from all the inside jobbing, “We’ll carll barack later, Ob’[swallowing] ama”
And that just made Osama burst into tears, repeatedly screaming the name of Obama as the feed was cut.
“Who the hell is Obama?” Wondered Bush.
“So.” Said Cheney, “it must have been exciting.”
“Oh yeah.” Said Bush. “You know, I literally spoke to god.”
“You mean figuratively.” Corrected Cheney.
“Nope,” said Bush, “I literally-literally spoke to God.”
“Alright you crazy bastard, do you even know what that word means?” laughed Cheney.
“Don’t make me fire you, Dick.”