Jon vs. Angry Birds

Somewhere over the Atlantic…

“Die you fucker!” David yelled as Richie burst into laughter.

“What the hell are you doing over there?” Jon asked, looking across the plane’s cabin at David and Richie, who had their heads together over David’s iPad.

“Killing fucking pigs, man,” David said.  “The smug little bastards under the ice bridge can’t escape my triple blue-birds of DEATH!”

“Kill that mustached fucker,” Richie said, leaning in closer to David and grabbing for the computer.   “He looks suspicious.”

“I got it, I got it,” David answered, jerking the iPad away from Richie.  He poked the very tip of his tongue between his teeth as he drew back the slingshot again.

“Seriously, guys,” Jon said.  “Angry Birds?  You’re playing Angry Birds? What are you, like twelve?”

“Man,” Richie said, flicking an impatient hand at Jon.  “Everyone’s playing this game.  It’s seriously addicting.  You lose all track of – YES!  Nice one D! Gonna go for three stars?”

“Naw,” David said.  “It’s good enough that all the fuckers are dead.”

“Guys, GUYS!” Jon yelled, and then shook his head.  They weren’t listening anymore.

Really, though, Angry Birds?  He slid his iPhone from his jacket pocket and accessed the App Store.  “At least I’m only wasting 99 cents,” he mumbled to himself as he tapped the ‘purchase’ button.

He stuffed his ear-buds in and started the app.  The music made him grimace.  That was definitely a tune that could get stuck in his head if he wasn’t careful.  He'd be whistling that shit for days if he let it get to him. “This doesn’t look too hard,” he said to himself. 

One lone pig sat in the middle of a tower.  Jon smiled.  The thing was kinda cute in a creepy cartoon pig kind of way.  It blinked and twitched its nose – and chuckled.  That was pretty funny actually.  Alright, time to kill the cute, creepy, cartoon, egg-stealing-sonofabitching pig.

He drew back the loaded slingshot and let the bird go.

CRASH!

SUCCESS!  The pig was down!  30,000 points!

“Two stars?” Jon muttered to himself. “NO fucking way.  I only used one bird.  There’s no bonus for that?  Fuck that.”  He reset the level and tried again. “Son of a BITCH!” he said out loud.

Richie looked over at Jon and nudged David.  “Look,” he said, hitching a chin in Jon’s direction.  “Look at the concentration on his face.”

David laughed.  “Oh, this game is gonna piss him off good,” he said.  “How much you wanna bet he sits there doing the same level over and over again until he gets three stars?”

Richie shook his head.  “No bet,” he said.   

“Don’t you fucking laugh at me, you black-eyed, no-toothed green pig-fucker,” Jon muttered.  

Reset.

He drew back the slingshot and let the red bird fly again.  “FUCK!” he shouted, when he got the same score.  He looked up, guiltily.  He saw David and Richie weren’t paying any attention to him but shifted a little bit away from them anyway.

Reset.

Pull, release, CRASH!

“Hah!  Eat that, bacon.  Three fucking stars.”

Three Hours Later…

Richie had long since grown bored of listening to Jon get pissed at the pigs, but thought it was funny that he was getting so worked up over a game. Thinking back to the Rock Band fiasco, he supposed he should have seen it coming.  David was asleep, reclined back in his plush seat.  He checked his watch.  “He’s been playing for three hours?” he said to himself.  “Hey Jon, want something from the kitchen, play some cards or something?”  Jon didn’t hear him.  Richie shrugged and wandered back to the galley for a snack.

“I got ninety-seven-fucking-thousand!  How is that good for only two stars?”  Jon yelled.  His fingers were cramped but he didn’t care.  He made it all the way to the 8^th level, with three stars on everything, and he wasn’t giving up now.  He glanced out the window.  Still ocean as far as he could see.  He still had time. 

Reset.

“A hundred-twenty-fucking-thousand.  That’s better.  Stupid green pig-fucks.”

Two Hours Later…

There was land underneath him.  Boston, if he wasn’t mistaken.  Only a short time to go before they landed.  “Oh, I tapped the fucking white bird, you piece of shit.  Drop the fucking egg-bomb.” 

Stop.  Reset.

There was a sharp stabbing sensation radiating from the middle of his spine out to his shoulder blades.  His left leg was asleep, and he was pretty sure he had to pee.  He knew if he moved, he’d REALLY have to pee, and he just HAD to master this level first.

“One more try,” he said, as he pulled the slingshot back.

“Wait, one star for a-hundred-something-thousand?  I don’t think so.  Fuck.”  He looked around the cabin of the jet.   David was sleeping with his mouth open; Richie was nowhere to be found – probably in the kitchen.  Tico hadn’t left his spot on the couch in the front of the cabin, sleeping like the dead from the moment they took off.

Excellent.

No distractions.

Reset.

One Hour Later…

“Jon, this is the captain, we’ll be landing in New York soon.  I’m sending Elise through to gather your glasses and leftovers, and to make sure you’re all belted up for landing.  Welcome home.”

“No, wait, I’ve almost got it,” he said.  He was bent over nearly double, so the little cord that tethered his iPhone to his computer would keep the power going.  And so his bladder wouldn't start leaking all over the plane.  He had mostly worked past having to pee, but he couldn’t feel his ass anymore, and wasn't taking any chances.

“Jon, you need to sit up for landing,” Elise said as she passed his seat.  He didn’t hear her, so she touched his shoulder.

“What?” he snarled, ripping his ear buds out.  Elise arched an eyebrow at him and just gave him a look.  “Sorry,” he said, straightening up.  The movement moved something around in his bladder, and he started to sweat.  “Fuck,” he whispered to himself.  “How long until we land?”  He stuffed his iPhone into his jacket, and slid his laptop back into its case.

“Another fifteen minutes,” Elise answered, clearing up Richie’s snack.

Jon unclipped his belt and hobbled, knees practically pressed together, toward the head.  “I only need a few.”

“The captain can’t land until you’re seated,” she admonished.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jon said, as he locked himself into the cubicle.  As he braced a hand over the plane’s commode and took care of business, he rotated his head, stretching out his neck.  The moment he closed his eyes, he saw them.  Pigs in a river boat.  Giant mutant red birds that knock into everything. The ridiculous boomerang birds that pissed him the fuck off and made the stupidest noses EVER.

Shit, he’d been playing the game so long he was seeing it even when he closed his eyes.  Addicting was right.  Damn.

Still, his hand pushed back from the wall and his fingers inched toward his pocket.  

He’s still got a few seconds.

A knock at the door startled him, and he almost dropped his phone in the toilet.  “Fuck!” he growled.  “What?”

“We need to land,” Elise said.  “Get back to your seat and buckle up or I’m sending David in there after you.”

“Okay, okay,” Jon said, flushing then rinsing his hands.  He opened the door and gave Elise a look.  “You would really send David in after me?” he said, giving her The Look.

“No,” she said, a smug smile creeping across her face.  “But the threat of it worked, didn’t it?  Now please, go sit DOWN.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, and turned back for his seat.   

Whistling.

The theme to the damned game.

Even before he sat down he slid his phone from his pocket and waited.