Whew. Okay. That should just about do it. Feeling all better. I’ll just wash my hands and I can get back out there and help those guys take back this hijacked plane.

Whoop. Not so fast.

Unnnnnhhhhhhh. Unh.

All right. I think that’s the last of it. Let me just sit here for a moment to make sure. This is a big fucking job here, and I need to be certain that I’m good and ready. Life and death situation, right here. I’m 6’4", 225 pounds. Biggest guy on the plane, probably—they need me out there.

Okay. Time to get this show on the road. I’m gonna get out there to help Jack take out that box cutter-holding motherfucker in business class. Should I put him in a headlock? Nah. Too risky to start there. I’ll go low, take out his legs, bring him down hard. Then Jack’ll take ’em high. That should do the trick.

Can’t mess around for too long with that fucker, though. After that, I gotta quickly help Dave and Mike put down those other two fuckers standing next to the cockpit door. Those fuckers. Were they wearing bombs? They looked like bombs, and they said they were bombs, but I think they’re lying just to scare us. Those guys are full of—


Whoo, boy. That one stings the nostrils. You know it’s bad when even you can’t stand the smell of it. Good Lord.

Okay. So. We’re gonna take out those guys right by the cockpit, then we’ll use the drink cart to smash the door in. That might take a few seconds. Those fuckers inside the cockpit definitely will be prepared. I guess I can wrestle away a box cutter from one of those other terrorists? Yeah, I’ll do that. That’s gonna be tough, though. Lotta sudden movements. Straining. It’s gonna be hard to hold it together.


Whatever. Fuck it. I was a two-time all-county linebacker. I can still bench my weight. Hell, I carried Katey’s armoire up three flights of stairs all by myself when she moved into that place on the Upper West Side. I can totally—


Do this—


I’m gonna save this plane—


Gonna be a fucking—




Jesus fucking Christ. How do I still have anything left in me?

Imagine that, though. Me, Craig Spellman: a hero. I’ll be on the news, for sure. And they’ll definitely make a movie about it. I’ll probably like throw out the first pitch at a Yankees game, too, and Jeter will come over and shake my hand and be like, "Thank you so mu—

Unnnncchh. Unhh.

Fucking LAX Taco Bell. I knew that chalupa tasted weird. That’s the last time I ever eat there. Shit. That might be the last time I ever eat anywhere. Oh, God. This is terrifying. I’m sweating so much. What if I can’t do this? We’re all fucked. Oh, God, we’re so fucked. There were so many things I didn’t get to do. I never got to see the Grand Canyon. I never got to fall in love, get married, have kids. I NEVER WENT SCUBA DIVING! Oh man, if I could do it all over again, I would have done all of those things. I also would not have eaten that chalupa.

Naw. FUCK THAT. Gotta get moving, Craig. Pull yourself together. LET’S GO, CREGGERS! That’s what Dad always used to say from the bleachers. R.I.P., Dad. I love you, but I’m not ready to meet you in heaven just yet. CREGGERS IS GONNA MAKE YOU PROUD!


That was a little one. Maybe I’m done? I think I’m done.

ALL RIGHT. Get ready, you terrorist motherfuckers. You just made a big mistake, hijacking a plane with Craig Spellman on it. Big fucking mistake. Time to start some shi—