Seattle Space Needle Reflection at Night

Spotted: The Outrage Machine’s “Check Engine” Light

The Outrage Machine, perhaps the best example of modern American craftsmanship there is, has really been churning along the past couple of years, and it’s been doing so, well past the red line.

Alas, it seems to be sputtering a bit, as the latest creation of said machine falls well short of what most people would generally consider plausible.  Not that this matters in the least.  Eh, read it for yourself.



Did you get all of that?

Woman denied boarding, but she wasn’t really denied boarding, and, well, I see what’s going on here.  The Outrage Machine. Something’s wrong with it. I mean, there aren’t usually so many imperfections in its output.

*Sigh* … amateurs.

Gimme that thing …

Let me tell you all about a terrible, terrible thing that happened recently.

So, a woman … a woman named “Maggie McMuffin” no less … flies from New York, to Boston, to Seattle … with absolutely no clothing other that which she has on.

Sure, okay, you’ve seen that happen occasionally.

The clothing she happens to have on are a pair of 70’s NBA-lengthshorts, of the type I’ve seen people wear on planes fairly often.   Not long by any stretch, then again, not really all that short either.

Got it?

As she’s waiting to board her plane for the 5-hour flight from Boston to Seattle, which I assume will land during the day because it will be too cold for shorts if it lands in the evening, the pilot and other employees call a pow-wow to discuss her somewhat normal-length shorts.  After all, she’s her, and she can’t help but draw attention everywhere she goes.  She’s just that notable and interesting.  No, really, she is.

Okay.  Still with me, right? Standard ME, ME, MEattle fare so far?

After talking about her for awhile, and noting how incredibly hot she is, the pilot begins to worry, “What might children who see these types of shorts every day think if she boards the plane with them on?  Furthermore, how will the furious masturbation of everyone on board affect the aerodynamics of the airplane?”  After all, one eyeful of her, and said uncontrollable masturbation is all but a foregone conclusion.

Oh, did I mention that this woman is a Burlesque Dancer?  Because she is.  A Burlesque Dancer that is.  I shit you not, she shows her chimichangas onstage while a bunch of dudes smack their hands on the table and shout “Now that’s a hot tamale!”

(Really fellas? Burlesque? I mean … really? It’s 2016 not 1936, right?  Burlesque? Why not a stripper?  Or porn star even?  Or some YouTube hoochie?  Burlesque? Alright, alright, lemme see what I can do …)

“Wait a minute …”, you say, “what does that have to do with anything?  After all, she concedes that no one is aware of her profession.”

Look, do you want to handle this thing?  Do you think it’s easy to operate an outrage machine?  Tell you what, why don’t you do the driving, and I’ll sit back and critique. You want that instead?

You’ve clearly never used one of these before.  They’re a bitch to get started, and you need every little spark you can get. I don’t care what this woman really does, for the purpose of starting the Outrage Machine, she’s a goddamn Burlesque Dancer … BURLESQUE DANCER … because this is the 1930’s, got it? GOT IT?


Now where was I?

Oh yeah, the pilot.

First, a Jet Blue employee offers to book her on another flight.


The investigative journalists don’t say. I mean, why would these normal-ish shorts be less offensive on another Jet Blue flight?  That sure doesn’t make any sense.

This happened, though, and I’m here to tell you, it’s true.  All true.  Every bit of it.  Burlesque dancers don’t lie and we know this, well, because they tell us, that’s why.  Sure, she might be lying, but then again, there might not have been a Holocaust.  Is that what you think?  That there wasn’t a Holocaust?  If that’s what you think, get the fuck off of my blog and do not ever come back.  Is that really your opinion?  That there was no Holocaust?

I thought not.  Let’s dispense with the thinky thinky, you feel me?

Alright then … here’s what happens next …

The pilot, being a card-carrying member of ©The Patriarchy now says to himself, “A woman on an airplane?  Shhyeah, right! What next, black guys in the NBA?”, and then he pulls out a baby seal and starts to beat it while he laughs maniacally.

“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! BWAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!”, he shouts, “I’m going to show this, this, female, who’s boss!”

He walked over to the lady, I mean goddess, pointed a finger, and mansplained, “You bitch, cunt, whore, prostitute, bossy, chick, babe, skirt, inferior specimen of human who can’t drive and should never have gotten the vote!  You will never fly on my airplane!  Not in those shorts you won’t! NEVER!!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!”

Yep, he really said “bossy”.  I know, right? Anyway …

At this point, the woman, who is only flying to Seattle to feed the homeless and adopt three orphans from a war-torn, impoverished section of Bainbridge Island, apologized profusely, and said “Please sir, I meant no offense.  If it pleases you, sir, I’ll comb the city, Boston is it?, for a pair of trousers that you find more acceptable.  If only you’ll let me take this flight to the poor orphans, I’ll be forever grateful, and I promise to be more cautious in my selection of wardrobe in the future. Oh, and please sir, may I have some more meat?”

“MORE MEAT?”, he bellowed back.

“Yes, sir”, she replied, “I’d be ever so grateful if I could have some more meat.  All I’ve eaten for the past three years is this here gruel.”

This is a sweet, innocent, honest woman we are talking about here.  It’s not her fault that her abusive, alcoholic father named her after a breakfast sandwich before laughing at her ambitions of being an astrophysicist (he said girls can’t be astrophysicists, then molested her, which made him quite well-spoken for a perpetually-drunk guy), putting her in a time machine, sending her back to the 1930’s, and pimping her out as a Burlesque Dancer.

Oh, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to mentally paint the scene a bit:  The pilot, who for this story is dressed in a wife-beater and carrying a bottle of Jack Daniels, makes a gesture towards his groin, before backhanding the woman for “sassin’ him”, but nonetheless agrees to her proposition because she, and I quote, “makes his dingle tingle”.  Whatever that means.

So, from here, the woman gets on the plane, flies to Seattle, did I mention she’s a Burlesque Dancer? Cause she is.  A Burlesque Dancer that is.  She’s probably one of those flapper girls that dance the Charleston too.  You know, like one of Al Capone’s molls?

Anyway, she flies to Seattle, gets off the plane, where the pilot gives her one of those encouraging fake-punches on the chin then says “Here’s lookin’ at you, dollface”, before telling her that he will hunt her down quote “Tanya Harding her ass” should she ever get an abortion.

That’s right, I forgot to mention that the pilot thinks that unborn babies are human. Wait, is that too evil?  Okay, okay, nevermind, dude’s pro-abortion, let’s not get carried away.

Scratch what I said above, he tells her he’ll quote “Tanya Harding her ass” should she not get an abortion. Yes, not get an abortion.  The man’s an misogynistic asshole, not Satan for crying out loud.

Later, as she was dancing for a room full of old men who remember Vaudville like it was yesterday, Maggie Mc,ugh, Muffin decides to call Jet Blue and ask for some money and stuff, which they give her, but “fuck them” she thinks after accepting the money, momma needs a new pair of shoes and she’s in Seattle now so this story’s gonna have some legs, E-I-E-I-O. (for some reason I keep picturing her with a “See-n-Say”, I don’t know why.  Eh, indulge me.)

Afterward, she posted her story on social media, where she was immediately met with a resounding chorus of “you go, girlfriend, a voh dee oh dee” (because this is still the 1930’s when burlesque is still a thing).

As for the media, oh the media, those guys who are on top of EVERYTHING.  You know, things like the mayor of a largish city blocking a taxpaying citizen from reading public social media accounts, they were on the story right away.  Those guys are people you can still count on. I don’t think I’ve ever had a consumer dispute that they didn’t write a story about.  Say what you will about our 4th Estate, but journalism is the one thing in America which is still motivated by an unwavering commitment to uncovering the truth to help keep this experiment in Democracy alive. The word “hero” is handed out liberally these days, but ever there was a legitimate use for the word, it would be for the men and women in modern American journalism.

The End.

And that is what actually happened.  Every, single, solitary, word … accurate.  Only an idiot would question its accuracy.  Get it?  Only … an … idiot.

It was

It was

Allow me to add my voice to those who say “Shame on Jet Blue!”

How dare you treat Maggie Mc, uh, Muf … we’re going with the breakfast sandwhich name for realz?  I mean, we couldn’t go with Meridith Macaroni or Matilda Meatball?  If we’re going to make this up anyway those are way funnier names. Fine.  No, really, whatever.  It’s fine! I don’t even care anymore. No, I don’t care.  You get your way, as usual.  I’m not mad, I’m just saying fine.  What do you mean my demeanor doesn’t seem like I’m fine with it, you’re a mind reader now?  No, I’m saying if you’re a mindreader you should be making more money.  I mean, here I am with a mindreader and I’m still wearing clothes from 1993, and you have this skill that’s worth what … billions … and I’m just saying you’re wasting your talents … go out there and get what you’re rightfully owed.  Oh yeah, walk away, walk away, do what you do best, what, mommy’s not here to fight your battles for you so all of a sudden you don’t know what to say? Yeah, sleep on the couch, god knows it’s the only thing in this place large enough to fit your ass.  Get lots of sleep now, you have a long day of mind reading in front of you and you want to be in top form.  Yeah, well, fuck you too.

Anyway, Jet Blue, how dare you treat Maggie, ugh, Mc … MUFFIN, happy? … like a second-rate citizen simply because she was wearing normal-ish-length shorts.  Don’t you know that women are not, I repeat, are NOT objects for you to objectify and eyeball hump at will?  That’s right, that’s right, I said NOT objects!  Yeah, I just blew your mind, didn’t I?  See, if a store sells it to her, she should be able to take it on an airplane.  I mean, you don’t see them preventing people from taking bottled water on airplanes do you?  If she buys it she can take it on a plane …. assholes.  Or do you think women should just shut their mouths and solve Rubik’s Cubes the whole flight? (what?)  Yeah, I bet that’s exactly what you think!

You’re all clearly, and I mean CLEARLY a bunch of sexists, misogynists, and let’s face it … you hate black people too.  Why is it Jet BLUE anyway?  You like those blue-eyed Aryans, don’t you?  Maybe you and Hitler should just get a room.

This story clearly happened exactly, and I mean EXACTLY like the news piece said it did, and I am outraged, OUTRAGED by your behavior!  I’m having a moral panic attack as we speak, and I’m wagging both fingers in your direction.

This is just …. oh I’m so mad I just have to end this now.

I’m watching you, Jet Blue, I’m watching you.

Ew I’m so MAD!  If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go to social media and blow off a little steam.  I’m mad, sincerely mad, and people just gotta know why.

See you there.





(And that, my friends, is how to properly operate the Outrage Machine.  Consider yourself mentored.)


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