Ralph is My Co-Pilot
7/22/96
RALPH IS MY CO-PILOT
It's Monday, July 22, 1996, and I see that investigators are still fruitlessly mucking about the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean for clues to the downing of TWA Flight 800. But the crew-list may tell us all we need to know. Along with the pilot and co-pilot there was a second co-pilot, unofficially along for the ride----Capt. Ralph Kevorkian.
Was Ralph the unacknowledged illegitimate son of Jack Kevorkian, the Angel of Assisted Death, or was their shared last name just a coincidence? And how many other Kevorkians are out there, and how long have they been out there, and what will they pull next?
Was there a passenger on Flight 800 who was tired of living, and who reached out to Ralph, phoning him to ask for his assistance in ending it all? And did Ralph say, "You want the other Kevorkian. I'm an airline pilot with a superb safety record, not the Angel of Death."
And did the Passenger-who-wanted-to-end-it-all say, "Don't sell yourself short. With the right combination of circumstances, you, too, could be an Angel of Death. You ARE a Kevorkian, are you not?"
"I can't help you," said Captain Ralph. "Phone Jack if that's what you want. Anyway, I'm busy. I'm flying from New York to Paris on TWA Flight 800 tomorrow."
"No problem. I'm making a reservation on the Internet even as we speak," said the Passenger-who etc., etc. "See you onboard."
"You won't see me," snapped Captain Ralph, "I'll be in the cockpit hanging out with the crew."
"And that's just where my Angel of Assisted Death belongs," said Passenger Deathwish. "You'll be ideally situated to put me out of my misery."
"There will be 229 other people on that flight, including me!" squawked Captain Ralph. "How can you even contemplate something so horrific?"
"My pain is so great I can't afford to care who or how many I take down with me. And after I'm gone, I'll hardly have to worry about conscience pangs now, will I."
Something in Passenger Deathwish's familiar voice began to exert a seductive and hypnotic pull on Captain Ralph's will. "What's the matter with you?" said the Captain, beginning to go a little watery in the knees. "Do you have a horribly painful, debilitating, disease?"
"Yes. Most emphatically," said Passenger Deathwish. "I can't imagine what to do next with my life. I've hit the wall. It's time for me to end it all."
"Your physical health is excellent?" asked the incredulous Ralph.
"I could run a 3 hour marathon tomorrow morning, play 36 holes of golf in the afternoon, and take a dysfunctional litter of hyper-active quintuplets to Disneyland in the evening," said Passenger Deathwish. "But I'd much rather go down in the Atlantic on TWA Flight 800."
"You must be mad!" said Captain Ralph.
"Nope. Sane as they come. I just lack, as I said, imagination."
"Then why don't you do yourself in? You don't need to take 229 innocent souls down with you!"
"I wouldn't be able to do myself in properly. I'd make a botch of it. But you, you're a Kevorkian! You're to the manner, errr manor, born!"
"Listen, Buster," said Captain Ralph. "I'm no relation to Jack Kevorkian, Jack Kevorkian is not my friend, I've never even MET Jack Kevorkian. I, sir, am no Jack Kevorkian."
"Sir," said Passenger Deathwish, "you do protest too much. Your naturalborn Kevorkianesque propensities are making themselves felt in your heart of hearts even as you deny them. The Kevorkian Tradition is a long and proud one. There was Nigel Kevorkian, first mate on the Titanic, and Antonio Kevorkian, in the engine room of the Lusitania. And who rode just to General George Custer's right at the Battle of the Little Bighorn? Why, none other than his trusty Crow scout, End of the Trail Kevorkian. It was End of the Trail who advised George that the best way to put the brakes on the relentless decline of his military career was to end it all with a bang by riding straight into a hive buzzing with several thousand very angry Sioux braves.
"There was a Kevorkian in the Crimea advising Lord Cardigan that the Light Brigade shouldn't pay any mind to the cannon to the right of them, the cannon to the left of them, the cannon in front of them. 'Theirs is not to make reply,' replied Aide de Camp Montcrief Kevorkian, Earl of Untimely Endings, when Lord Cardigan suggested that perhaps all the men in the Light Brigade were not yet ready to put out the light, 'theirs is but to do, and die.'
"And," continued Passenger Deathwish, "It was Sheik Ben Ali Kevorkian who advised Sadam Hussein to go toe to toe with the Allies in Kuwait, and there was a Zeke Kevorkian at the Alamo, and Catastrophe Kevorkian at Thermopylae, not to mention the Kevorkians advising David Koresh at Waco and Jim Jones at Jonestown. It was the Jonestown Kevorkian who thought of putting the cyanide in grape kool-ade. And don't forget Oberlieutenant Heinrich Kevorkian, who advised General Paulus to hang tough at Stalingrad. And then there was the unforgettable Mitsumoto Kevorkian---he's the guy who told Tojo kamikazes were the way to save Japan. And, more recently, Colonel Yahoo Kevorkian, the high school janitor and Michigan Militiaman who advised Timothy McVeigh how to fertilizer-bomb The Federal Building in Oklahoma City.
"So Captain Ralph, why fight fate? It's time for you to get in lockstep with a Kevorkian long gray line that stretches back to the mists of recorded time."
And Captain Ralph felt something snap inside him, and he knew that at last he was going to embrace his most authentic inner self and become the man that the fates had always dictated he must become. "OK, OK. You've got me convinced. A few miles out of JFK I'll take us all down. I'll make it look like a terrorist bombing."
"You're a peach, Ralph, a real peach. I don't know what I would have done without you. Play some more golf, I guess. Or re-draft another capital punishment initiative with Marilyn. She's been awful edgy since she had to move back to Indianapolis. Even when we were in D.C. she wasn't the easiest person to live with, believe-you-me.
"It's not easy being an unemployed house-husband. Not when you've got a dynamic attorney-wife like Marilyn donning the pants in the family. It's a good thing I've got a trust fund and my Vice Presidential pension, or I'd be out on the street selling leftover Bush-Quayle bumper stickers. Nor does it look as if Bob Dole is going to invite me onboard as his running mate, despite my vast experience and proven record in the Vice Presidential arena. He hasn't even phoned me. Can you believe that?! One thing's for sure, they're not going to ask me to deliver the keynote address at the Republican National Convention. Colin Powell has that plumb. And I ask you, what does he have that I don't? So do you see now why I have to end it all, and why I'm burdened with too many religious scruples to do it myself?"
"I see, Dan," said Captain Ralph, "I see. And there's nothing I'd like better than to promptly dispatch you to that great country club in the sky. Because your track record proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that you lack the imagination to get yourself out of your present, or any other fix. I guess the last time you showed any real imagination was when you joined the Indiana National Guard."
"Thanks," said Dan. "I'd like to take the credit. But it was my fraternity brothers who thought of that one."
"Then it's true. You have no imagination whatsoever."
"Vision, Ralph. President Bush used to call it The Vision Thing. He said I was very shortsighted. Even shorter-sighted than he was. But how did he know I was shortsighted? He never even let me speak to him."
"That's what you need, Dan. An employer who's very shortsighted and who will never let you speak to him, especially if you're his running mate," said Captain Ralph.
"You mean.....Orville Redenbacher, the guy that invented the airplane?" said Dan.
"Almost," said Captain Ralph. "But Orville is dead. I mean Ross Perdue....errr..Perot."
"That is such a fantastic idea!" said Dan. "And I almost thought of it all by myself. That's the first time in my life that I've almost thought of something without the assistance of a fraternity brother, or Marilyn, or my caddy. I'm going to phone that Frank Perdue fella right away."
"Ross Perot, Dan. It's Ross Perot who's looking for a running mate."
"Right, of course, Ross Perdue. What a Mr. Potato Head I am. How can I ever thank you, Captain Ralph?"
"Just forget you ever made this phone call, Dan."
"What phone call, Captain Ralph?" Which is how Dan Quayle did NOT end up on TWA Flight 800, and why he still needs a job. Ross Perot, or Frank Perdue, or Orville Redenbacher, Jr, or the late Orville Wright, or Wilbur, or anybody out there, are you listening?! This deserving young man needs a position, he needs to get out of the house, out from under Marilyn's wing, and off the golf course on weekdays. He looks good, he has a law degree, and if he is no Jack Kennedy, at least he has Jack Kennedy's hair. If you have a job for him and you don't have his number, you can probably find him at the upcoming Republican Convention. Just don't expect to find him anywhere near Bob Dole.
---FIN---
RALPH IS MY CO-PILOT
It's Monday, July 22, 1996, and I see that investigators are still fruitlessly mucking about the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean for clues to the downing of TWA Flight 800. But the crew-list may tell us all we need to know. Along with the pilot and co-pilot there was a second co-pilot, unofficially along for the ride----Capt. Ralph Kevorkian.
Was Ralph the unacknowledged illegitimate son of Jack Kevorkian, the Angel of Assisted Death, or was their shared last name just a coincidence? And how many other Kevorkians are out there, and how long have they been out there, and what will they pull next?
Was there a passenger on Flight 800 who was tired of living, and who reached out to Ralph, phoning him to ask for his assistance in ending it all? And did Ralph say, "You want the other Kevorkian. I'm an airline pilot with a superb safety record, not the Angel of Death."
And did the Passenger-who-wanted-to-end-it-all say, "Don't sell yourself short. With the right combination of circumstances, you, too, could be an Angel of Death. You ARE a Kevorkian, are you not?"
"I can't help you," said Captain Ralph. "Phone Jack if that's what you want. Anyway, I'm busy. I'm flying from New York to Paris on TWA Flight 800 tomorrow."
"No problem. I'm making a reservation on the Internet even as we speak," said the Passenger-who etc., etc. "See you onboard."
"You won't see me," snapped Captain Ralph, "I'll be in the cockpit hanging out with the crew."
"And that's just where my Angel of Assisted Death belongs," said Passenger Deathwish. "You'll be ideally situated to put me out of my misery."
"There will be 229 other people on that flight, including me!" squawked Captain Ralph. "How can you even contemplate something so horrific?"
"My pain is so great I can't afford to care who or how many I take down with me. And after I'm gone, I'll hardly have to worry about conscience pangs now, will I."
Something in Passenger Deathwish's familiar voice began to exert a seductive and hypnotic pull on Captain Ralph's will. "What's the matter with you?" said the Captain, beginning to go a little watery in the knees. "Do you have a horribly painful, debilitating, disease?"
"Yes. Most emphatically," said Passenger Deathwish. "I can't imagine what to do next with my life. I've hit the wall. It's time for me to end it all."
"Your physical health is excellent?" asked the incredulous Ralph.
"I could run a 3 hour marathon tomorrow morning, play 36 holes of golf in the afternoon, and take a dysfunctional litter of hyper-active quintuplets to Disneyland in the evening," said Passenger Deathwish. "But I'd much rather go down in the Atlantic on TWA Flight 800."
"You must be mad!" said Captain Ralph.
"Nope. Sane as they come. I just lack, as I said, imagination."
"Then why don't you do yourself in? You don't need to take 229 innocent souls down with you!"
"I wouldn't be able to do myself in properly. I'd make a botch of it. But you, you're a Kevorkian! You're to the manner, errr manor, born!"
"Listen, Buster," said Captain Ralph. "I'm no relation to Jack Kevorkian, Jack Kevorkian is not my friend, I've never even MET Jack Kevorkian. I, sir, am no Jack Kevorkian."
"Sir," said Passenger Deathwish, "you do protest too much. Your naturalborn Kevorkianesque propensities are making themselves felt in your heart of hearts even as you deny them. The Kevorkian Tradition is a long and proud one. There was Nigel Kevorkian, first mate on the Titanic, and Antonio Kevorkian, in the engine room of the Lusitania. And who rode just to General George Custer's right at the Battle of the Little Bighorn? Why, none other than his trusty Crow scout, End of the Trail Kevorkian. It was End of the Trail who advised George that the best way to put the brakes on the relentless decline of his military career was to end it all with a bang by riding straight into a hive buzzing with several thousand very angry Sioux braves.
"There was a Kevorkian in the Crimea advising Lord Cardigan that the Light Brigade shouldn't pay any mind to the cannon to the right of them, the cannon to the left of them, the cannon in front of them. 'Theirs is not to make reply,' replied Aide de Camp Montcrief Kevorkian, Earl of Untimely Endings, when Lord Cardigan suggested that perhaps all the men in the Light Brigade were not yet ready to put out the light, 'theirs is but to do, and die.'
"And," continued Passenger Deathwish, "It was Sheik Ben Ali Kevorkian who advised Sadam Hussein to go toe to toe with the Allies in Kuwait, and there was a Zeke Kevorkian at the Alamo, and Catastrophe Kevorkian at Thermopylae, not to mention the Kevorkians advising David Koresh at Waco and Jim Jones at Jonestown. It was the Jonestown Kevorkian who thought of putting the cyanide in grape kool-ade. And don't forget Oberlieutenant Heinrich Kevorkian, who advised General Paulus to hang tough at Stalingrad. And then there was the unforgettable Mitsumoto Kevorkian---he's the guy who told Tojo kamikazes were the way to save Japan. And, more recently, Colonel Yahoo Kevorkian, the high school janitor and Michigan Militiaman who advised Timothy McVeigh how to fertilizer-bomb The Federal Building in Oklahoma City.
"So Captain Ralph, why fight fate? It's time for you to get in lockstep with a Kevorkian long gray line that stretches back to the mists of recorded time."
And Captain Ralph felt something snap inside him, and he knew that at last he was going to embrace his most authentic inner self and become the man that the fates had always dictated he must become. "OK, OK. You've got me convinced. A few miles out of JFK I'll take us all down. I'll make it look like a terrorist bombing."
"You're a peach, Ralph, a real peach. I don't know what I would have done without you. Play some more golf, I guess. Or re-draft another capital punishment initiative with Marilyn. She's been awful edgy since she had to move back to Indianapolis. Even when we were in D.C. she wasn't the easiest person to live with, believe-you-me.
"It's not easy being an unemployed house-husband. Not when you've got a dynamic attorney-wife like Marilyn donning the pants in the family. It's a good thing I've got a trust fund and my Vice Presidential pension, or I'd be out on the street selling leftover Bush-Quayle bumper stickers. Nor does it look as if Bob Dole is going to invite me onboard as his running mate, despite my vast experience and proven record in the Vice Presidential arena. He hasn't even phoned me. Can you believe that?! One thing's for sure, they're not going to ask me to deliver the keynote address at the Republican National Convention. Colin Powell has that plumb. And I ask you, what does he have that I don't? So do you see now why I have to end it all, and why I'm burdened with too many religious scruples to do it myself?"
"I see, Dan," said Captain Ralph, "I see. And there's nothing I'd like better than to promptly dispatch you to that great country club in the sky. Because your track record proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that you lack the imagination to get yourself out of your present, or any other fix. I guess the last time you showed any real imagination was when you joined the Indiana National Guard."
"Thanks," said Dan. "I'd like to take the credit. But it was my fraternity brothers who thought of that one."
"Then it's true. You have no imagination whatsoever."
"Vision, Ralph. President Bush used to call it The Vision Thing. He said I was very shortsighted. Even shorter-sighted than he was. But how did he know I was shortsighted? He never even let me speak to him."
"That's what you need, Dan. An employer who's very shortsighted and who will never let you speak to him, especially if you're his running mate," said Captain Ralph.
"You mean.....Orville Redenbacher, the guy that invented the airplane?" said Dan.
"Almost," said Captain Ralph. "But Orville is dead. I mean Ross Perdue....errr..Perot."
"That is such a fantastic idea!" said Dan. "And I almost thought of it all by myself. That's the first time in my life that I've almost thought of something without the assistance of a fraternity brother, or Marilyn, or my caddy. I'm going to phone that Frank Perdue fella right away."
"Ross Perot, Dan. It's Ross Perot who's looking for a running mate."
"Right, of course, Ross Perdue. What a Mr. Potato Head I am. How can I ever thank you, Captain Ralph?"
"Just forget you ever made this phone call, Dan."
"What phone call, Captain Ralph?" Which is how Dan Quayle did NOT end up on TWA Flight 800, and why he still needs a job. Ross Perot, or Frank Perdue, or Orville Redenbacher, Jr, or the late Orville Wright, or Wilbur, or anybody out there, are you listening?! This deserving young man needs a position, he needs to get out of the house, out from under Marilyn's wing, and off the golf course on weekdays. He looks good, he has a law degree, and if he is no Jack Kennedy, at least he has Jack Kennedy's hair. If you have a job for him and you don't have his number, you can probably find him at the upcoming Republican Convention. Just don't expect to find him anywhere near Bob Dole.
---FIN---
posted by mobydoug at 12:27 AM
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