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Thursday, July 3, 2003

If I Could Fly or Shoot Lasers from My Eyes

Ray Stillman

If I could fly, I think the world would me a much better place. For one thing, I’d never have to wait for the subway to come, and when it does come, I wouldn’t have to squeeze into an overstuffed, sweaty box. That means I would be on time for things, and probably less stressed, therefore a little nicer to my friends and colleagues. They, in turn, would be nicer and to their friends and colleagues, and so on, and so on, as illustrated in the 2001 movie, Pay It Forward, starring Oscar-winners Kevin Spacey and Helen Hunt, and that Oscar-nominated kid who sees dead people.

This chain of niceness toward one’s fellow human beings would begin with me (when I was on solid ground, not soaring through the skies) as the vortex and would extend in ever-increasing concentric circles through my city, state, nation, and the world. Imagine peace in the Middle East, all because I could fly.

Yes, flying would be very, very good indeed, for me as well as all of Earth’s peoples.

Also, if I could fly, I’d get myself a dog. And his name would be Pickles. Pickles the Wundermutt would fly alongside me. People down below would look skyward, pointing and cheering as Pickles and I soared past. “Hey!” they’d scream. “It’s Pickles the Wundermutt!” And he would bark, and do a midair rollover, and the people down below would be even happier then they already were from my paying it forward.

Now, to fly, I’d probably have to have wings. My wings would be made of a composite of Kevlar and golden goose feathers. Pickles’s feathers would me made from a plastic kite (no string). Flying would be so fucking fantastic for me and Pickles and our feathered wings, but we couldn’t fly too close to the sun, because not only are the ultraviolet rays harmful for human and canine skin, but also the intense heat would melt the Kevlar, and we’d fall, thus bringing Earth’s happiness plummeting with us.

But if I could shoot laser beams from my eyes, then we’re looking at a goddamn Utopia. You see, if I could shoot optic lasers, I’d be an unstoppable force. I’d blast my way through bank vaults and steal every red cent. Anybody who got in my way, I’d slice in half. Ugly people, too. Annoying people. Anybody who crosses me, gone. Then, when only the good and attractive people are left, cowering in fear before my laser-charged eyes, I’d declare myself emperor of the world. Pickles would be my deputy emperor. As emperor, armed with laser eyes and backed by all the world’s money, I’d make some serious changes. Changes for the good of humanity: only the soothing sounds of 70s orchestral rock would play on the world’s radio stations. Food, beer, movies, toys, sex would be free to all. Animals would roam the streets freely. Cars would all be suped-up. Speed limit 200 m.p.h. No taxes on anything. McDonald’s would serve Chinese food. And nobody would ever have to watch Pay It Forward ever again, because despite its Oscar credit, it’s a bad, bad movie.

Ray Stillman once killed a man with his bare hands, although he is not one to brag about such things. He is an aspiring screenwriter, an inspiring poet, and a perspiring photographer. Mr. Stillman is an ex-New Yorker who now lives in scenic, sunny, star-saturated Los Angeles, in an apartment building between a bowling alley and a tattoo parlor. He often finds it difficult to resist the urge to ink "Gutter balls" across the knuckles of his left hand. He has made sweet, sweet love with supermodel Heidi Klum many, many times but, again, is not one to brag.