Internal Memo: Steven Slater

Hello, Jet Blue passengers! I will never be serving you a fucking soft drink or a bag of stale, chemical-coated peanuts again. You know what, you want to leave that seat otherwise than in the upright position, go right ahead, bozo. When the guy behind you is lying in a hospital bed with a concussion and brain damage, see if I shed one lousy tear. Please put your tray tables in the upright position or else watch me laugh when your ribs crack as the plastic impales your thorax and your intestines spill out into the aisle, obstructing the path of your fellow cheapskate Jet Blue-flying kamikaze numbskull passengers. Should have flown Delta, dumb-dumbs! The seatbelt sign is on- please refrain from using the lavatories, but feel free to wet yourselves. We will soon be experiencing turbulence, so fasten your safety belts, crack open a cold one and pop a handful of Valium. This sucker’s going down. Watch your head, Park Slope! Look out above, Long Beach! Next stop, Lockerbie! Muhammad Atta’s got nothing on me! Attention-this is your captain speaking. Wrong! I’m a fucking flight attendant, which is the gender-neutral term for stewardess for all you geezers out there. You’re in-flight entertainment this evening will consist of me swinging from the overhead compartments reprising my junior-high gymnastics routine and with a double back flip into your lap. At that point, the oxygen mask will drop from the overhead compartment, and you are instructed to apply it to my face. When I spring up for my finale, please hand me your seat cushion, which is also a helpful flotation device. On behalf or the whole crew, I hate you all! Finally, passengers seated by the emergency exits, get the hell out of the way because here I come! It’s Miller time!