Shouldn't we be flying by now?
I know we were promised flying cars but I don't want to buy my flying machine from a guy in a polyester suit.
"So can I interest you in some protective undercoating for the wings? You don't want those rusting out at 12,000 feet above sea level."
I want something less cumbersome. Something I can keep in my closet, next to my "winter" coat and my mother's old Mah Jong set.
I want wings.
Da Vinci imagined it 500 years ago.
Why can't Elon Musk design and build it? Instead he's wasting his time on some bullet train that promises to speed passengers from Rancho Cucomonga to Fresno in less than 18 minutes.
I'm no mechanical engineer, but hardly a day goes by when we don't witness new, incredible quantum leaps in technology.
Candles that regenerate themselves.
Advancements in watermelon cutting.
iPhone apps to surreptitiously piss off the neighbor's vicious pit bulls.
Everyday, from my office near LAX, I watch massive 747s, carrying hundreds of passengers and their heavy suitcases full of shoes they won't wear and books they won't read, lift off the ground and into the air.
How hard can it be to construct a nuclear-powered, strap-on jet pack that would flutter a set of high-speed wings, like those seen on a hummingbird, and finally emancipate us from the bondage of gravity?
Steve Jobs could have done it. And would have done it. But he was taken from us way too soon.
Maybe if he had pursued more traditional medical care instead of listening to homeopathic hucksters or anti-vaccination imbeciles and their ill-informed ilk, who would have us believe you can stave off polio by chomping on a head of romaine lettuce or sucking on some vanilla beans.
I blame you Jenny McCarthy.
It's your fault I don't have a flying machine to slip into. So now I have to walk to the minimart. Because we're out of mayonnaise.