BLOG: Flying the therapeutic skies aboard your midlife crisis

Ladies and gentlemen, shut the hell up.

This is your captain speaking.

I hope you had a miserable flight. Luckily, I slept through most of it, but I caught the tail end of the movie. That Tom Hanks what a guy.

Ive finally stirred, sobered up and realized were about 20 minutes outside of pleasant, 124-degree Fort Lauderdale. Normally, this is when Id tell you in a deep, manly tone about the weather and local time at your destination.

But since you all booked your tickets at a discount, youll get no such VIP treatment.

Flight attendants, please prepare for landing and make sure none of the passengers has on headphones. Take away their books, too. Oh, and wake up those rich drunks in first class.

Folks, Im having a bit of a crisis, and my therapist doesnt do telephone sessions. I hope youll lend me your ears. Well, Im betting on it. Flight attendants, lock the doors.

Now I know what yall are thinking. A pilot with a midlife crisis? Cant be! How may we help our handsome hero of the heavens?

Honestly, this job sucks. I find no more joy in stealing the underwear from your luggage mid-flight. Each day, the whiskey gets weaker and the flight attendants less attractive some even look like men.

All these damn clouds are the same. This wretched hat they make me wear? I vigorously fart into it each morning.

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BLOG: Flying the therapeutic skies aboard your midlife crisis