My Cardboard Balcony

I Didn't Like by Belinda Roddie I didn't like his tone of voice so I took an demodulator signaled for a signal that took ages to return to me. The extra of terrestrials was smoking in a bar along the borders of his hometown when he took up my transmission but he didn't understand a word of English, so he went to an interpreter who knew a hundred sixty seven dialects of alien and micro- scopic organisms' tongues, and he was able to translate my words into a sign of kind misfortune that the creatures rather liked. But when they sent me back a message as the teacher went on droning with that same old intonation that I wasn't fond of, I read off the streams of consciousness that they had typed to me, and frankly I found that I strongly and consistently despised their tone as well.

This is your flight attendant speaking. If my voice sounds garbled and you can't comprehend one iota of a word I am saying, then that's just your bad luck. I would mention something about the safety regulations, but in an actual emergency involving our imminent deaths in the middle of the Atlantic, I hardly find them relevant. If you want, you can put on the oxygen masks and pretend to be a gas mask person from Doctor Who. Ask your neighbor if he or she is your mommy. Thank you, and have a scary flight.