Infidel Flight 666

"Sweet fucking Jesus ... Not again!"

That's just ridiculous. We all know that Jesus never went around fornicating. But these blasphemous words were uttered by the commercial airline pilot responsible for flying me to Sudan over the weekend, not Marilyn Manson at one of those diabolical heavy metal concerts. Here's how it all went down ...

I missed my flight on Friday night. A series of delays that began with my wife giving me more missionary-style attention than an actor on late-night TV; then Liberty decided to have a few of his demon-possessed, one-too-many-paintballs-to-the-head convulsions; and then I had to dodge a few more missile-bricks on the highway to the airport. So I missed my flight.

I had no option but to take another plane that was flying what looked like the entire human contents of a mosque to Mecca. I was the only pale-faced, Christian-God worshiping bloke on the plane. The pilot was probably an atheist or Satanist or both with a foul mouth like that -- I'm talking about the passengers here.

So there I was, sitting in a plane surrounded by a host of devilish potential suicide bombers.

Eventually, I couldn't take anymore torment. Every time a Muslim got up to go and pee or pray to Allah / Satan, I thought the plane was about to explode in a fireball that would rival a dragon's fart after consuming all of India's curry in one sitting. So I decided to ensure that no raving mad Muslim could storm the cockpit and fly us into a tall building. I was going to protect the pilot and make sure another 9/11 didn't happen on my watch.

Turns out the whole plane thought I was a mad white infidel bomber.

So by the time I reached the front of the plane, a number of white-robed Mohammeds had jumped me, screaming something about jihad and the will of God and other demon-tongued bits even I couldn't make out. But Chuck Norris does not fear me for nothing -- I made it to the cockpit and that's when the pilot let rip with his evil blasphemy. I only learned much later that he has survived at least two other attempted hijackings at 30,000 feet and thought the same stupid things about me that the rest of the plane did -- that I was a terrorist! But nothing excuses taking our Lord's name in vain.

At that moment, I would have detonated all the explosives wrapped around me if I was indeed a suicide bomber -- and sent all those misguided, demon-worshipers and the evil-tongued pilot to hell while I jetted off to heaven as the hero who sparked off Armageddon.

But it was not to be. The pilot's blasphemy made me drop my guard for a second, just long enough for a bearded terrorist-in-the-making to klap me on the back of the head with a hard, blunt object. Possibly the Koran. Knocked me out cold.

The pilot made an emergency landing in some or other African country -- a long way from Mecca or Sudan. But I'm not Paintball Pete for nothing and managed to speak my way out of detention without trial in some God-forsaken, cockroach-infested African prison ... although it would have been just another reason to write yet another newsletter about my persecutions at the hands of black atheist commies and raise more funds for my *mission* work.

I'm back in SA and have abandoned my Sudan trip until further notice. I've heard every Muslim on board the plane has also decided to abandon any future holy pilgrimage. And the pilot has retired, together with most of his cabin crew. At least next time I'm on a plane, there'll be fewer Muslim passengers, blaspheming atheist pilots and gay air stewards to contend with.

Fight the good fight.