Guilt-Shedding Day, Fibucetera 11, 40 A.B.

"Push the yoke - the wheel - the stick forward!

Push it FORWARD!  HURRY!!  It's the only known
way to come up out of a dive!"

- Partial transcript of the last email I sent to 
the pilot of Alaska Airlines Flight 261 last week


     Damn.  I had a 50/50 chance of getting it right and I blew it.
     You'd have thought I would have learned my lesson after EgyptAir Flight 990 last October, wouldn't you?

     On the other hand, who the hell is directing pilots in distress to me??  If it's anyone I know, please - stop it.  NOW.  Ok?!  It wasn't funny the first time, and it sure didn't get any more humorous the second.

     But let there be no mistake.  I'm not writing about this now to make others feel bad or to shift the blame elsewhere.  
     That is not my intent.
     My intent, rather, is to confess and accept the blame and responsibility for these and other recent unfortunate actions I've committed just so everyone can praise me for being so upfront and remorseful about them, and so I might enjoy Valentine's Day weekend without having whatever sex might occur ruined by guilt.

     As luck would have it, I've only committed two other blameworthy actions recently, so this will be a mercifully short entry for all of us.
     Provided, that is, everyone cooperates and holds their praise until the end.
     Thank you.

     Now, about that leetle problem Yahoo had the other day.
     You know - the one that knocked them off-line for a few hours.
     That was, ummm, my fault.  
     But it was another complete accident, I swear.  I mean, I was really looking forward to getting a certain piece of email from a certain special someone.  How was I to know that checking my Yahoo account several hundred thousand times a second to see if it had come in yet would jam Yahoo's servers?  
     Ok, so I really shouldn't have then started checking CNN's homepage several hundred thousand times a second to see if they knew what was going on yet with Yahoo.
     As for eBay and the others - well, all I can say is that when you're typing in a URL several hundred thousand times a second because your reload button has burned out, sometimes you make a mistake.
     And a mistake is a mistake whether it costs Peter a penny or the U.S. economy $1.2 billion - right?  
     And even though the U.S. economy is a huge, impersonal, multi-trillion dollar thing that'll never miss that $1.2 billion, I want to make things right with it exactly as I would have had it actually been Peter I had wronged.
     So, you big U.S. economy, you - come here.  
     I'm sorry.

     Ok, just one more thing.
     At the end of my entry of two days ago I said as part of my "Forward" link that I'd be revealing the plans I have for my crawlspace.  Despite this, I made no reference whatsoever to my crawlspace in yesterday's entry.
     Compounding my sin, I didn't even try to make it up to you by making a reference to anybody else's crawlspace, either.
     This was not malicious behavior, I assure you.  It was merely one more mistake.  
     As hard as it may be for anyone to believe, I simply forgot.
     And as soon as the chance presents itself again, I still intend to detail my plans for my crawlspace with all the wit and accuracy my regular readers have come to expect from me.
     Suffice it to say for now that I intend to finish it off and furnish it exactly like I've furnished the living room directly above it without changing its four foot height.  This will require making a few alterations in various floor lamps, bookcases, and a certain entertainment center, but no one ever said that doing a job right was going to be easy.
     Or did I miss it?
     If I missed it, please let me know before I go out and buy a new hacksaw blade tomorrow, ok?
     Thanks yet again.

     There.  This concludes my making a clean breast of things.
     Well, so to speak. 
     Then again, contributing to the crash of a commercial airliner is probably against the law in many jurisdictions - and who knows?  They might even send you to prison for that.
     So, ummm, we can just disregard everything I said about that, ok?  
     Although I might be wrong yet again, my gut tells me that having to live with even the dirtiest of breasts is still better than 10-20 years in the slammer.
     If anyone knows for sure, please email me.
     After you've landed the plane yourself this time, ok??

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