Hey, look at me, I'm George Bush!
Yeah, I can land a plane on an aircraft carrier, which is actually better than Georgie Boy because he didn't land his plane. Why, I've made several successful landings, but I'll admit I've wound up in the drink even more often.
The plane n a Cousin Ned Design 2 Paper Jet. The carrier n The U.S.S. Coffee Table.
Coffee table aircraft carrier landings, a fun game you, too, can play in the privacy of your own home. In fact, I highly recommend keeping this game private.
Here're a few tips.
Get a flat piece of regular letter-size paper of good heft and fold one of the narrow ends into two triangles that meet in the middle, making sure to make the triangles even. Then, fold those triangles in half making a delta shape with the paper. Fold in half, then fold down each wing leaving maybe a half inch of fuselage.
You'll have to hold something when throwing the plane.
Now, the real trick is to fold the rear outside corner of each wing to make stabilizers, adjusting the angle of each to assure a straight flight onto the "deck" of your coffee table aircraft carrier.
Warm up a little at close range, then work your way back as far as you can go. Try trick shots like banking your plane in for a landing, and remember that it is weak to put a phone book at the end of the coffee table to prevent the airplane from sliding off.
Let's put a little effort into it, shall we?
So I was in the middle of a tense round of coffee table aircraft carrier when a few things came to mind, and I thought I'd share.
One is the phrase "kinetic poetry." You figure it out.
Next, I contemplated the great paradox of modern America. Deep in our hearts, we all love to cheer for the underdog. It comes from our roots as the world's biggest underdog, the little band of rough and tumble colonies that took on the world's big bully, the British Empire, and won.
Now we're the world's biggest power, but still we retain that instinct to see the little guy win. Thus, we as people separate ourselves from our own country's government, a government we supposedly elect, and we make it the big, bad bully.
And the government doesn't help its own cause. Why, my wife and I were forced to do battle with the frightful Bureaucratic Beast and its minion, the fiendish Immigration Devil.
I quaked with fear as we crept into the creature's lair in downtown Atlanta, gathering my courage lest my fair lady would sense my trepidation and despair or worse, laugh at me.
We waited together with a small cross section of the world, each individual muttering nervously in more languages than were heard on the Tower of Babel. Finally, a fairly urbane, balding servant of evil summoned us into his tiny, cramped office.
In his most intimidating manner, Chrome Dome assaulted my wife with questions, under oath, like "Are you now or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party?"
I kid you not.
In the end, though, we passed the test and now my darling can officially call America home for as long as she can stand it or they kick her out, which ever comes first. In other words, she got her Green Card, or at least the stamp for her Green Card.
The card will be mailed to us later, and from what I understand it isn't really green.
However, I wasn't able to convince her that playing coffee table aircraft carrier is a prerequisite of permanent residency.
Ed Brock covers public safety and municipalities for the News Daily. He may be reached at (770) 478-5753 ext. 254 or via e-mail at email@example.com.