Tough Love In My Backyard

Thanks so much to my blog buddy, DeadpanAnn, for bringing to my attention the stolen Canadian plane that landed in my backyard. I might never have known, without the rivalry we have to prove whose state has the most embarrassing folks making the news. How could I have spent the day oblivious to the drama passing right over my head? This is too close for comfort. As the crow flies, 51 miles too close for comfort.

So, with that in mind, perhaps you'll understand my chagrin. Oh, I suppose it's all rainbows and gumdrops down in Mississippi, since that little Cessna couldn't carry enough fuel to land there. Thank the Gummi Mary, Miss Ann, that you are even more isolated from foreign wackos than Hillmomba. I guess your biggest worry down there is that pirates might come ashore and hike to your back door.

As the Emperor of Hillmomba (I've explained before that I'm no girly Empress), I decree that any future stolen plane that crosses the Hillmomban border into Hillmomban air space, in which the pilot does not respond to radio transmissions or hand signals of the F-16 escorts, will be summarily shot down over the lake at the border. No pussy-footin' around for us Hillmombans. We are not wishy-washy pantywaists afraid to make the tough decisions. Mess with us, and we will throw the book at you. The book of Hillmomban foreign policy. Live by the plane, die by the plane. Think we're joking? Just try us. That will make the next Cessna bandit think twice before landing on Hillmomba's dirt roads. First you steal a plane, then you won't communicate, then you won't follow aerial instructions...we wash our collective hands of you. You are going down in the first unpopulated area we cross. YOU made the decision by your actions and subsequent inaction. Case closed.

"But Emperor Hillbilly Mom," you say, "That was just some misguided Turkish naturalized Canadian citizen, distraught over his personal problems, wanting to die by police suicide." PUT A FREAKIN' SOCK IN IT! What a coincidence that the person some fools elected to run our country was in Turkey at that very moment. Oh, the irony! A poor wittle emo was just acting out his grief. Yeah, right. There are many easier ways to off yourself in grief than this grand extravaganza. Step in front of a moving car or train or Canadian bus hauling a decapitator. Jump off a building. Shoot yourself--guns are allowed in Canada, right? Take an overdose of sleeping pills. Slit your wrists. Put your head in a gas oven. Rig up a vacuum hose to the tailpipe of your (or any stolen) car. Tie a plastic bag around your head tightly. Hang yourself. Walk into a police station pointing a gun. Lay your head on a railroad track. Drink some antifreeze. Take a long walk on a short pier. Chug a fifth of Canadian Mist. I would write a song for you, but Paul Simon stole my tune for his 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.

You know I'm all about conspiracy theories. This scenario smacks of something sinister. This dude could have just crashed the freakin' plane if he wanted to die so badly. Oh, and when he landed on Missouri soil, the first thing he did was run away! Yeah. That dude was itchin' to die all right. This was a test or a set-up. A test to see how far a little plane could make it into U.S. air space before NORAD dispatched someone to remove it from the radar screen. Permanently. Or a test to see how big someone's balls are. The someOne who is running the country. Because that's the first person consulted, you know. And then the Secretary of Defense. And then a NORAD committee. So we KNOW that the order was given NOT to shoot down this rogue bipolar planejacker.

Oh, and our fine Missouri State Trooper took the dude at his word. Yep. We always believe what the criminals tell us right after they are caught. We don't know no better, down here in the land of dirt roads used as runways, where folks pick up any Turkish-Canadian hitchhiker who has just landed a stolen plane on the road, and drop him off at a convenience store for a Gatorade.

Tough love, baby, tough love. That's what the world has just too little of. Except in Hillmomba. If we have to kill you to teach you to follow the rules, we WILL, by cracky!