I Need to Stop Hanging Out On Planes

By A Burmese Python

That's it! I've had it with the process of being a motherfucking snake on this motherfucking plane! I mean honestly, there is no more misunderstood demographic than snakes on planes. It's not like we as elongated reptiles don't have it tough enough already. It's not like I, as a Burmese Python, don't already find myself eternally poisoned by the noxious snake-tonic of racial discrimination. I can't even drink from the same swampy badlands as my reptilian brothers, and for what reason? Oh, just my locomotion, limblessness, horny scales, and the fact that I move by muscular contraction? Do my loosely jointed and extremely flexible jaws make me any less of a member of the Reptilia kingdom? And have you heard what they do to the Black Mambas in Africa? They mutilate their hoods as a rite of passage into snakehood. And the Australian asp? I hear they skin them and wear their hides as some kind of disgusting boot-wearing ritual. And this is OFF of planes!

And what exactly is it about the presence of a particular pair of pernicious predatory pythons on planes that just causes such uproar? Why is it that I become so much more despicable when I'm flopping around on the floor of a Boeing 747 filled with Japanese tourists? There are plenty of locales in which being a Burmese python would cause even the most open minded and virtuous of FBI superagents played by Samuel L. Jackson to frown with contempt. For example: The rodent section of Petco. I'll concede, even as a respectable member of the slender slithering species of the python, that I would have a hard time resisting a hamster and mouse massacre in those circumstances. Also, at a children's picnic. I tend to become aggressive when frightened, and there is nothing that activates my reptilian bloodlust more than the high pitched screams of the young. But planes? I'm perfectly at ease flying business class of Southwest Airlines to some exotic hot spot in the Caribbean . You never hear charismatic black men condemning the presence of alligators in a waterpark, sharks on a pool deck, or Siberian Tigers in a Las Vegas magic show populated by flamboyantly gay Europeans.

There really is only one person to blame for this shocking tidal wave of hatred and anti-snake sentiment: A certain Samuel L. Jackson. I have no doubt that if Tom Cruise were jumping in the pilot's seat and yelling "I strongly disapprove of these darn snakes on this aircraft!" then all of this never would have happened. But if Mace Windu tells the American people that an anaconda can't rest peacefully in the luggage compartment, they just can't resist the hate.

A lesson to all reptiles out there, especially those of the Phylum chordata. If you ever feel the need to travel, just hitch a ride in the back of some guy's pickup. Because, or so I've heard, they've had it with snakes on planes.