Yesterday while we were blacked out to help support the rights of internet savvy Americans, Mark Wahlberg was out there insulting and offending the rest of America.
Marky Mark (sans funky bunch) said in February’s Men’s Journal about missing the fateful flight 93 that crashed in Pennsylvania, and I quote:
If I was on that plane with my kids, it wouldn’t have went down.
There would have been a lot of blood in that first-class cabin and then me saying, ‘OK, we’re going to land somewhere safely, don’t worry.’
We certainly would have tried to do something to fight, I’ve had probably over 50 dreams about it.
What a piece of shit. Who does this fucking guy think he is? Look at tough guy Boston face over hear trying to save the fucking day. Does he seriously think that he could have done anything more than the group of people that already foiled the terrorist plot? Is this guy so far lost in his own ego that he can’t tell the difference between movies and real life?
The truth is, yes. But I’m not really that mad because it actually gives credibility to my own delusional “would of, could of, should of” 9/11 story…
If I Was There
By Carlo J. Montagnino
Asking the author of historical novels to teach you about history is like expecting the composer of a melody to provide answers about radio transmission.
– Lion Feuchtwanger
If I was in the World Trade Center, I’d have seen the planes coming towards the building because I can’t help but stare blankly out of windows. After seeing the plane, I would have pulled the fire alarm, gathered my entire office and shoved them into an elevator sending them to the ground floor to safety. Then it would just be me, the plane, and the 10,000 pounds of Thermite scattered about the building during a fake safety inspection two weeks prior.
I would hack into a computer in our server room using the back door I paid an IT guy to make 3 years ago, just in case. Using the powerful antennas on the roof of the building, I would jam the controls of the plane and have it crash land in the Husdon. Fuck those people for not having Marky Mark’s will to save my life.
After the plane-induced-death is averted, It’s up to me and the chick I wanna bang in Marketing (I found her in the hall way. She was in the bathroom during the evacuation) to find and remove the Thermite. As we climb stairs floor to floor (the stairs were built to wrap around the major support beams of the building, which apparently melted because of jet fuel) we noticed that the whole building was rigged to be destroyed, like the chick’s uncle used to do in Vegas. Her name is Jessica or something.
“So what your saying is that this is a controlled demolition?” I ask Jessica.
“What else could it be?” Jessica repied.
Just ask Jessica utters the “e” in “be”, we hear a voice from down the hall.
“So you’ve figured it all out.” A voice echos from behind a tall leather chair. The chair begins to turn around.
“Osama Bin Laden, I should have known something this evil could only be hatched in your sick, Muslim mind!” I said.
“Correct Carlo. But if you think I’m a Muslim, then it’s obvious you are just another sheep, here for the fleecing. Don’t you know that all of the Power-Elite are Satanists! Get him!”
Just then 6 big Arab dudes pop out from behind walls and shit and run after Jessica and I. We easily kick their ass and run towards Bin Laden.
“What do you mean by Power-Elite?” Jessica asks the Turban-garbbed maniac.
“How do you think I gained such access, to rig 3 of the most important financial buildings in the world with explosives! We are all part of the Satanic Global Kabal. Me, Bush, Cheney, Clinton, Bush, Obama, Nixon, Berlusconi, Hitler, Ito, McMahon, O’Reilly, Shottenheimer, Gates, Jobs, Kent, Skinner, Sabathia, Disney, Eisner, Iger, Dolan, Aladdin, Sanders, Newkirk, Jolie, Gretzky, and Jordan. We own the world and there’s nothing you can do to stop it Carlo!” Osama said.
“How do you know my name?” I ask, befuddled.
“I’ve been watching you for years Carlo. We’ve been needing to fill one more seat in our Satanic Global Kabal and you were our top candidate, but you couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
Osama’s walkie talkie buzzes. “What? Marky Mark Landed flight 93 safely? God damn that good ol’ Boston rascal!” Just then Osama looks up and notices all the security cameras surrounding him. “Take tower 7 down now! I DON’T CARE IF IT MAKES SENSE. DO IT.”
I take this opportunity to make a run at him. I tackle him to the ground and as I’m about to smash his head with an old computer monitor I hear an explosion. I look to Jessica and she motions “it’s time to go”. I drop the monitor and give Osama a good bye punch in the head. Jessica and I run out down the stairs, jumping over rubble and stuff and make it out before the building comes down.
We ran so far, so fast and we never looked back.
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