"Huh." You say.
"Who writes your stuff, a fortune cookie... writing... guy? Oh, well,
what do I expect from an airplane toilet fortune telling machine? And
why am I talking out loud?"
Just then the door behind you bursts open. When, oh, when will you learn
to lock bathroom doors behind you? Didn't you learn anything from the
terrible ‘Uncle Percy" incident of Thanksgiving '85?
You look up, up, up
into the face of.... Manute Bol!! 7'7" retired NBA all time shot
blocking champion and Dinka Tribesman of Sudan! And He's unzipping all
one and a half feet of his zipper!
"Uh... Hi... Manute," You manage. "I'll... uh... be out of here in just
a minute."
"Oh, dots okay, mon.," says the towering glandular oddity. "See, I
ordered de Chinese in flight meal? An' my faw-choon cookie say "Soon you
get to fok a li'l white mon up agains' a faw-choon tellin' machine in
an' airplane crapper. Imagine my surprise!"
Well, he's sure tall, and he's very dark, and it looks like they don't
get any stranger. Try to look at the bright side. You'll be able to tell
friends you joined the mile high club AND you had sex with a
celebrity! Maybe they won't ask for any details.
Luckily it turns out not to be much of an issue as moments after Manute
begins his fortune cookie inspired assault, your head bashes through the
glass of the fortune telling machine, your throat is slit and you die.
