Richard Branson, Eat Your Heart Out

As I mentioned a coupla posts back, I fly. A lot. And I'm constantly firing off missives to the CEOs of the major airlines, explaining how they can improve the overall experience for weary travellers. So what if my list goes no further than "lapdances and slot machines"? It's the thought that counts, as I see it.

Then, while reading through Vadergrrrl's page, I discover that my prayers have, in fact, been answered:

Hooters has its own airline.

Are they serious? Is it legit? Fuck, I wouldn't care if the plane ever left the ground. I. Am. There.

The website itself is a bloody riot. Among the advantages of flying Hooter's Air? "The same great flight crews plus two Hooters Girls on every flight!" And my personal favorite (cue Beavis and Butthead laughter): "Extra Leg Room."

Talk about a way to take the edge off flying. If Bin Laden himself stood up in the front row, brandishing an AK-47 and announcing he's diverting the plane to the Hoover Dam, I don't think I'd even bat an eyelash. Not while Missy and Brandy are playing volleyball in the aisle, anyway.

Folks, this is progress in my eyes. Splitting the atom? Satellites over Mars? Artificial hearts? Feh. Where are the overstuffed tanktops? The satiny orange shorts that can barely contain the curvaceousness? Somewhere along the line, this country lost track of its priorities. Thanks to Hooters Air, America's back on top.

My name's Ken. And I approved this message. Hi.