The snakes have arrived!

Gather around, celebrate the new high holy day... the plane has arrived and the snakes are on board! I just got home, bubbling over with enthusiasm to share my opinions of Snakes On A Plane with anyone interested in reading them, stay tuned after the review for a harrowing story of night driving on Man O' War Boulevard!

I won't ramble for very long about the film for two reasons: 1. I'm sure that everyone is getting tired of hearing about it. 2. I'm extremely tired and just don't feel like clacking away at this thing for an hour.

Snakes On A Plane is exactly what it's supposed to be... and that may be the best possible review you'll see of the film. If you're expecting breathtaking cinematography, stunning art direction and/or an emotional, moving script then look elsewhere. However, if you're looking for snakes, and I mean lots of snakes, on a plane then this is exactly what you've been anticipating.

From start to finish it's packed with laugh-out-loud dialogue, completely over-the-top action and one or two actual scares. It's possibly the single least believable film ever committed to screen, packed with absurd one-liners and the least plausible solutions to the least likely problems that you could possibly imagine... and it's perfect. It may be the single greatest B-Movie ever made, so go in expecting that and you'll be rewarded with the best movie experience of the summer. Just don't take it or yourself too seriously.

Now, after we smashed into the runway, escaped the snakes and broke for daylight, my friend Kevin and I made our way over to Trump's to meet a few friends for beer and the last night of the trivia crawl. Of course, having not gotten much sleep the night before and knowing that another work day (on a Saturday, ugh) did lie before me I decided to only stay for a couple of questions, exchange pleasantries and make my move to the door. After correctly answering a few questions (the Venezuelan unit of currency is the Bolivar, Colleen was the first member of any Survivor cast to star in a major motion picture) we were passed a rather interesting item... a Miller Lite air freshener!

For those of you that know me well (or casually), you'll know that Miller Lite is my official beer of choice, so I was overjoyed to receive this dandy little trinket (lovingly provided by the Miller Lite girls that have apparently been following the trivia crawl all week, wouldn't you know it, the year that I can't participate is chock-full of scantly clad women). Little did I know, this trinket would bring about a terribly uncomfortable experience only a few short minutes later.

The air freshener was potent, actually that's a dramatic understatement. The air freshener was literally freshening the air... all of the air in the world. As Daxon said upon getting within five or six feet of the item, "I've gotta get out of here, that Goddamn thing is killing me." Now, never one to turn away free stuff and always eager to show my support for the good people at the Miller Brewing Company, I took the item into my possession and made my way to the parking lot. I theorized that placing it under the driver's side seat would freshen the car without being overpowering.

I was wrong.

If you're familiar with Lexington geography then you'll surely know how long it takes to get from the Trump's on Mapleleaf Drive to the Buffalo Wild Wings (where Kevin's car was parked) on Todd's Road. If you're reading from out of town then let me save you some Mapquest or Google Earth, it probably takes two and a half minutes... with traffic. We pulled into the BW3 parking lot, I let Kevin out and pulled into the night. Before I could get out of sight of his vehicle my phone rang, it was Kevin wanting to further discuss the events of the evening. As we started into a conversation I said, "y'know, this thing is really starting to overpower me."

We continued the conversation. I rolled down the window.

Now, I'm blazing down Man O' War Boulevard... blazing and coughing... blazing and sneezing. I then begin to do things that would have given Benny Bryant (remember, he gave most of us our driver's tests!) cause for a massive heart attack, I start to drive with my right elbow while talking on the phone (in my right hand) and reaching under the seat to retrieve this horrendous air freshener. To put this in perspective, the only use that I can discern for this particular deodorizer would be a situation in which a person says, "Absolutely any smell on earth would be better than what I'm smelling right now."

I break the news to Kevin that I'm going to have to call him back, the left hand just isn't coordinated enough to navigate the under-seat area by itself. I hang up the phone and mercifully come to a red light at the corner of Man O' War and Pink Pigeon Pkwy.

It's go time!

I quickly toss the phone aside and begin digging with reckless abandon under my seat for the hell-spawned sulfur monster than has taken up residence down there. Finally I feel something... JACKPOT! With a mighty heave I yank what may be the exterior packaging... nope. I had, however, managed to find The Beard's old beef jerky package from the trip to Chicago. Thanks Josh. Now it's back to work, digging, poking and stabbing myself with some sort of sharp under-the-seat car part. Finally I put the car in park and pull the seat adjustment lever, sending me flying backwards and grabbing onto the scented, rectangular cardboard slice from hell in one smooth motion!

Or so I thought...

Now my hand is stuck.

It becomes painfully (no, really, painfully) obvious that the light is about to change. So, here I am... I'm in park, now too far back to reach the gas or brake pedals and my right hand is wedged under the seat and undoubtedly beginning to smell strongly of this particular olfactory delight. Many thoughts go through a man's mind at this point, for example, "are they going to need the jaws of life in this situation... man, the firemen will get a kick out of this," or "what would that guy that sawed his own arm off with a pocketknife to escape a climbing accident do?"

Just then, the heavens opened, a chorus of angels began to sing and a light poured down from the sky as a proper wrenching of my wrist managed to free my hand AND the scent-sation in question from what I can only describe as the bowels of my car. I quickly threw it in drive, adjusted the seat and proceeded down the boulevard. However, the presence of one of Lexington's finest directly behind me made tossing the filthy little bastard out the window impossible. So I did what any sane person would do... drove the next mile or so with the damned thing hanging out the window, tied around my finger by the string. Soon I was on I-75, the police were gone and needless to say, the I-75/I-64 split is now the final resting place of what could only be described as history's most deadly and inconvenient convenience item.

The moral of this story, "Beware of Miller Lite Girls bearing gifts," or maybe, "Don't accept cast-off air fresheners." Take your pick, they're both probably excellent life lessons.