A Lot Of Hot Air
by Stephen Philip Druce
To all
tourists and romantic sightseers -
Take a trip on
a hot air balloon if you get the chance - I've
done it.
The pre-flight
fiasco was encouraging. An unexpected wind blew
the balloon bag over like an elephant had
overdosed on class A drugs. Consequently the
balloon basket tipped over and slid across the
field with the pilot inside it screaming
expletives in the presence of children. An
auspicious beginning to a once in a lifetime
adventure no doubt.
The pilot
fired a fierce lengthy flame from the burner into
the balloon bag - the heat source that helped us
become airbourne. A naked flame in such close
proximity to a balloon bag made of flammable
nylon fabric, reasurred me that safety procedures
had been adhered to. So it's best to dress up
like Evil Knievel before you climb aboard,
instead of the sandles, shorts and t-shirt I
showed up in for shits sake!.
Ballooning is
a classy way to travel. Keep your luxury cruises,
Ferraris or private planes. It's far better to
drift aimlessly - standing up inside a gloryfied
waste paper basket - a household accesory that
traditionally stores items like cigarette butts,
old chewing gum and used condoms. That's what I
call dream voyage upgrade.
Yes the hot
air balloon is a sophisticated piece of
engineering - no steering device or brakes.
During the
ride I discovered that the wind directs hot air
balloons - shrewd appointment. I was obliged to
respect the random breeze, even if that meant
dumping me on to a prison rooftop of serial
killers holding a rooftop protest.
Essentially
the hot air balloon is a useless, overgrown
bubble full of people that have lost their minds.
I just wished I'd have known that before I
climbed on the stupid piece of shit!.
The views had
an impressive repetoire - houses, fields, roads,
fields, roads, houses, roads, houses and roads
roads.
The pilot told
me he had no idea as to where we might land. That
filled me with confidence like a piss fills the
grand canyon. "Still, with all your years of
piloting experience your landing skills must be
very precise - I bet you could land this thing on
the head of a pin" I said.
"No, but
i did accidentally land on the head of a farmer's
penis once" he said.
Then we hit a
power line which consequently ignited the balloon
bag into a huge fireball, as we dangled in the
air plastered in bird shit, finally plummeting
into a cow pat field - nice.
When you tell
your friends about your balloon trip horror story,
and they say - "you chicken, you coward,
where's your courage?, where are your balls?",
tell them your balls are still missing from when
the landowner showed up at the landing area with
his gun and blew them off - you may receive some
sympathy. Have a night flight.
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