magic fingers

i write my life story on a cocktail napkin at 30,000 ft. amidst an orgy of peanuts and vodka and ill intention. the stewardess genuflects in the aisle as the captain comes on the loud speaker to deliver the sermon. all is silent and i wear my flotation device as a halo and open my sky mall hymnal and read the verse: yea though i fly through the valley of shadows i shall fear not, for i can now order the “ultimate massage chair” for $5,995 right from my seat and have it delivered by sunday. the day god rests.

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