Your Face Here

I awoke mid-flight on an airplane to the opening credits of a movie titled "I hope they serve beer in Hell." I hadn't seen this movie before and knew very little about it, except that it was based on a book (a good start) by a popular internet blogger/writer. Usually a studio logo or the name of a production company scrolling across the screen brings excitement to my otherwise dull existence because soon I will be immersed into a magical realm where anything dreamed becomes reality. Movies offer me a rare chance to suspend disbelief for a brief period of time and rejoice in pure ignorance bliss (except when those Hollywood bastards try and push their bullshit propaganda about how string theory requires an 11th dimension, fuck you Spielberg). It was during this absolutely god awful movie when the realization dawned on me; the plane had crashed while I was sleeping, killing me, and I had awoken to some sort of torturous purgatory. Fear stricken, reacting on the combination of pure impulse and muscle memory, I ran throughout the aisle collecting all of the crying infants. They were too young to comprehend the terrible abomination that was the in-flight movie, so their screams of pain must have been attributed to their lack of a baptism. The babies' souls seemed to be literally burning with original sin. Maybe if I baptized the children it would free all the occupants of Oceanic flight 815 from this agonizing limbo. As luck would have it, I was already an ordained minister so all I needed to perform the rite was some liquid to bless. The urgency of the situation (and the fact that I was not going to spring $9 on a 115ml bottle of Perrier) forced me to use the scarce resources I had on hand, my own urine. The baptism ritual was completed, and that's when it all went black...