The Pilot


                Ok, now it must be understood that this pilot was a regular guy. His name was Arechofka Lorandioscofka Lithiomofka Norkistofka Johnson. He spent 600 years in an insane asylum where he thought, for a little while at least, that he was a tuna fish. After he got out, (the orderlys were getting tired of him by this time), he worked at a pizza undelivery place. He would go to people's houses and take their pizza, and if necessary, attack deliverymen in the streets with large knives and lead pipes until that deliveryman's pizza could no longer be delivered.


                His life really turned around when he worked, aproximately 2.6 days later, at a tiltawhirl destruction factory. He would literally go to every theme park there was and start attacking their Tiltawhirls with a really sharp twig until he destroyed them. Finally, after much Tiltawhirl destroying and begging to be fired, he finally got a job as a helicopter pilot for a company called Biocrap. You don't want to know what they did. Anyway, a hilarious adventure took place one day that ended with Johnson falling through a crack to Hell. This is his story.


                When he got to Hell, a short flight of aproximately 200.547261347253 zentillion Helloseconds, about 20 minutes in our time, the stewardess ushered him off of the small bit of concrete he was so desperately clinging to. It was melting by then anyway. Johnson fell into a firey pit of death, where he screamed "Make way for king Banana" just before he burnt to a crisp and there was nothing left of him.


                When he got up, he was stabbed by several billion swords which just happened to be pointing out from the wall in front of him. "Sungod," he said before he collapsed dead in a bloody heap, "Bless me with your rays."


                When he got up again, a little tiny man walked up and shot him 78 times with a six-shooter without reloading. "Mudpies are exquisite," he said before collapsing yet again.


                When he got up again, he saw Saitin himself. "What up G?" asked Saitin, who slapped him in the face, kicked him in the stomach, and threw him against a brick wall which promptly broke all of Johnson's bones.


                "What up, Devildog," replied Johnson when he rose again. "I met you in the asylum."


                "I told you I was Saitin," said Saitin as a huge fan came down and tore Johnson to shreds, "But you just didn't believe me."


                "I sure didn't, S Class," said Johnson just before a piano whire wrapped itself around his neck and broke it.


                You know what, dog? We friends, and I likes you a whole lot man, so I is gonna release ya from here and send you back to the ghetto from which you came."


                "Aw, that's tight!" cried the pilot. He was actually referring to the boa constrictor which had taken the place of the whire, but Saitin took it otherwise.


                "Off you go then, old chap," said Saitin who had now become British. "Jolly good time and all that."


                The pilot's spirit floated gingerly up into the air and went back to Earth where it possessed an American Airline pilot who was flying to Holland. The memories and thoughts of the previous pilot took over, thus creating a form of reincarnation. Unfortunately, events that ensued on the flight to Holland caused the pilot to kill himself via a failing ejection seat and he ended up right back in Hell. Saitin gave up and invited him to move in. The pilot now lives with Saitin in a jammin pad filled with fine hottubs and comfortable women. There, he lived happily ever after.