• Dangerous criminal who the government has decided to transport on a commercial flight for some reason. This individual will have street smarts that might come in handy.
• Federal agent accompanying the criminal (an FBI agent or air marshal) who’ll have the guns and training to help you stay alive.
• Hijacker who was planning on storming the cockpit and diverting the plane, but that was before he was surrounded by cobras. He’s probably a retired soldier with some valuable skills, so save your political differences for another movie.
• Doctor to treat any snake bite victims. And by treat, I mean “apply a cold cloth to their forehead while they die miserably.”
• Guy who knows a tiny bit about flying, who’ll be able to keep you in the air after the pilots die (usually somewhere around the 30-minute mark).
2. GET HIGH. I’m talking stand-on-the-seat-cushions high. Snakes slither across the floor, meaning that’s the last place you want your ankles to be. If the plane has two passenger decks (a Boeing 747 or Airbus A380), you’re better off on the higher deck, since the infestation probably originated in the cargo hold, and it’ll take more time for the snakes to climb their way to you.
3. COVER THE FLOOR WITH MOTHBALLS. The chief ingredient of mothballs is naphthalene, which also happens to be the chief ingredient in many snake repellants. So the next time you’re boarding a flight and someone asks you why your carry-on smells like a grandmother’s closet, just give them a wink and say, “Let’s hope you never have to find out.”
4. CREATE A LUGGAGE AVALANCHE. Instruct the passengers to open all the overhead compartments (be careful—items may have shifted). Next, force your way into the cockpit and replace the dead pilots with the guy who knows a tiny bit about flying. Over the intercom, tell the passengers to move into the front two-thirds of the cabin. Next, disengage the plane’s alpha limiter, a built-in device that prevents the plane’s nose from lifting, and pull back on the yoke to bring the plane into a steep climb. The yoke will begin to shake in protest. Pay it no mind.
Back in the cabin, the snakes will start falling into the rear third of the plane along with all that loose luggage. The ones that aren’t crushed to death will have to slither their way through a mountain of Louis Vuitton, buying you a little time.
4. UNLEASH A SUITCASE FULL OF MONGOOSES. Laugh all you want. But the fact is, snakes are the number one cause of death in horror movie aviation. Is it really so stupid to buy a little traveler’s insurance in the form of a bag of half-starved mongooses?
You can try to bring two bags packed with mongooses, but most airlines have a limit of two carry-ons—and your other one is already full of mothballs.
5. BLOW ’EM AWAY. It all boils down to this: No screenwriter (or director) can resist the chance to do a big “depressurization” scene. According to movie physics, everything that isn’t nailed down can be sucked out of a bullet-sized hole in an airplane’s fuselage. No matter how many snakes you destroy, they’ll keep on coming until you give the filmmakers what they want:
1. Buckle up. Get everyone’s tray tables stowed and seatbelts tightly fastened.
2. Lower the oxygen masks. Rest assured that oxygen is flowing, even though the bag does not fully inflate.
3. Shoot one of the windows. Here’s where the gun carried by the federal agent (or hijacker) comes into play. As soon as a bullet penetrates a window, the cabin will turn into a deleted scene from Twister.
4. Get the plane below 10,000 feet (3,000 m). It should only take a few seconds for all the snakes to get sucked out, so the guy who knows a tiny bit about flying should dive the plane to this altitude, where the pressure equalizes and there’s enough oxygen to breathe.
Well that wasn’t such a chore, now was it? All that’s left to do is sit back and wait for the guy who knows a tiny bit about flying to bring the massive jet in for a smooth landing, despite the fact that he’s never flown a real plane before.
SNAKES ON A PLANE ARE NO MATCH FOR A VICIOUS MONGOOSE.
10 WILDLIFE CREATURES THAT ARE ALWAYS EVIL
1. MONKEYS. Opportunistic bastards. A monkey would sell its own mother for a stale banana peel—which is why they’re always recruited as spies for the enemy.
2. ROTTWEILERS. Dogs are universally good, with one exception. It seems that Rottweilers put their paw print on a contract with Satan, since they’re always portrayed as rabid psychopaths or guardians of the Antichrist.
3. SHARKS. They’re bad enough in the real world. In horror movies, sharks can carry a grudge, solve problems, eat boats, and track humans halfway across the globe.
4. RAVENS. As birds go, ravens are actually quite pleasant. Unfortunately, they’re also classic harbingers of impending doom.
5. CATS. Whereas monkeys are evil because it pays well, cats are just plain evil. They don’t need an incentive to sell you out or steal your baby’s breath; they do it for the sheer pleasure of being rotten.
6. RATS. Where there’s one rat, there’s 14,000. And where there’s 14,000 rats, there’s some sociopath using them to murder people.
7. BATS. It’s not a bat, it’s a vampire.
8. OWLS. Owls have been waging a PR campaign to change their perennial image as evil creatures. They’ve bought their way into a few family films, playing the faithful friend or endangered species, but don’t be fooled—they’re coldhearted killers.
9. SLOTHS. There’s actually nothing to suggest sloths are evil. But seeing as they’re the only animal named after a deadly sin, it’s probably best to avoid them.
10. WOLVES. It’s not a wolf, it’s a werewolf.
HOW TO SURVIVE A SPACE-BASED HORROR MOVIE
Isolation. The secret sauce that makes horror movies so deliciously unnerving. Ninety-nine percent of the time, heroes are utterly alone. That isolation can be physical (a remote cabin, a snowbound hotel), metaphysical (insanity, the afterlife), or both. But nothing compares to the isolation of space.
Rescue could be light years away. Running outside isn’t an option. And what you’re up against never has fewer than two mouths. Worse yet, space-based horror movies are among the most expensive to produce—meaning their writers and directors are a cut above direct-to-video. And the more talented your filmmaking adversaries, the more likely that the final frontier will become your final resting place.
1. NEVER ANSWER A DISTRESS SIGNAL. Why would you ever go toward a place where people are in distress? In horror movies, “Help!” doesn’t translate to “Our hyper drive is on the fritz again.” It means, “No one else lived long enough to send this message.” By the time you arrive, not only will everyone be dead, but whatever killed them will be hungry. This is precisely why caller ID was invented.
COMMUNICATIONS OFFICER
Captain! A distress signal from the orphan transport vessel Charity 7! They say something strange is happening to the orphans!
CAPTAIN
Yeah, um … let that one go to voicemail.
2. NEVER INVESTIGATE A FAILURE TO RESPOND. The only thing more ominous than a distress signal is no signal.
• If a distant colony stops transmitting, the colonists are dead. Make no attempts to recover bodies or equipment. Proceed to step 7.
• If a ship doesn’t respond to hails, either the crew is dead or they’ve been driven insane by some faceless evil from another dimension, and will eat the soul of anyone who boards. Proceed to step 7.
• If a fellow crew member doesn’t answer the intercom, a liquid formerly known as your shipmate is being vomited onto the engine room floor after disagreeing with an alien’s stomach. If he or she was in a section that can be remotely jettisoned, you might want to go ahead and do that. Otherwise, pull the self-destruct handle and book it to the nearest escape pod.
3. NEVER EXPLORE AN UNEXPLORED PLANET. This isn’t science fiction. Strange new worlds aren’t inhabited by talking monkeys or technologically gifted, sexy utopian women. They’re cold, dark rocks harboring terrible secrets—secrets that gobble up your crew on
e by one. If you happen upon a world that isn’t listed in the Pocket Planetary Atlas, keep on truckin’.
4. NEVER GO THROUGH A WORMHOLE. Some things are best left unknown.
Writers have been trying to hammer that one home since Pandora’s curiosity first brought evil into the world—all because she simply had to know what was in that box. And yet horror movie characters continue to ask, sometimes in the most demanding terms:
“What’s in the box?”
Wormholes are essentially shortcuts through hundreds, millions, or even billions of light years of space. Like Pandora, you might stare into those luminescent ripples of dark matter and wonder what’s on the other side. Think of the stories you’d be able to tell. You’d be the Magellan of the modern era. All you have to do is move ever so slightly forward and break the surface. And so you do. And just as light and time begin to take on the turquoise hue of impossible speed, you have a moment of nauseating clarity: “Wait a second … I’m in a horror moviiiiieeeeeeeee.” It’s too late.
5. TURN ON THE LIGHTS. According to space-based horror movies, sometime in the not-too-distant future, ship design is going to take a quantum leap in stupidity. Fed up with building brightly lit, space-saving vessels, designers are going to add deck after useless deck to their increasingly mammoth tankers of the galaxy. These fusion guzzlers will have random steam-belching pipes, rotating beacon lights, and an endless supply of hiding places—but a very limited supply of lightbulbs.
The director and cinematographer are at it again—sacrificing realism for mood and increasing the scare factor by decreasing the illumination. But you can fight back without even leaving the bridge.
YOU
Computer, set all onboard lights to 100 percent.
COMPUTER (V.O.)
Are you sure? That seems awfully inefficient.
YOU
And the fact that this ship has 26 decks for five crew members? That isn’t inefficient?
COMPUTER (V.O.)
Good point. Raising lights.
6. KNOW WHEN TO ABANDON SHIP. The filmmakers want you to see this thing through to the bitter end. Save the nobility for real life. There’s no shame in heading for that escape pod at the first hint of danger, such as:
Anything pops out of anybody’s chest. Whether it’s an alien or the Tootsie Roll owl, get the hell out of there.
You’re on a rescue mission. This has already been covered. There’s no such thing as a rescue in space. You’re merely the second wave of victims.
Your dead wife is walking around the ship. You’re going crazy, and the ship wants you to go even crazier. Leave immediately.
You can’t stop building things with mashed potatoes. Actually, you should stick around for this one, it’s pretty cool.
7. NUKE ANYTHING THAT EVEN REMOTELY CREEPS YOU OUT. It’s the only way to be sure.
THE PRE-HYPERSLEEP CHECKLIST
Do you lock the doors before you go to bed? Of course you do. We’re vulnerable while we sleep, so we take precautions. But what if you’re planning on sleeping longer than eight hours? What if you’re going to snooze for two or more years? Your precautions need to be more thorough than locking the door. If you’re about to take a hypernap, don’t rest until every one of these boxes is checked:
[ ] Scanners detect no unidentified life-forms or movement aboard.
[ ] Crew and passenger ultrasounds are negative for alien embryos.
[ ] Ship’s computer has no secret instructions to terminate life support.
[ ] Women are dressed in sexy cotton undergarments.
[ ] Plotted course doesn’t pass through any asteroid belts, stars, or black holes.
[ ] Coffeemaker is set to start brewing 10 minutes before alarm clock.
WHEN VISITING AN UNEXPLORED PLANET, BEWARE OF COLD DARK ROCKS HARBORING TERRIBLE SECRETS.
CHAPTER 666
THE SATANIC “VERSUS”
CURSES, DEMONS, AND THE DEVIL HIMSELF
REGAN
What an excellent day for an exorcism.
—THE EXORCIST (1973)
(Sung to Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence”): Hello Satan, my old friend. I’ve come to fight with you again. Because you’re worse than any poltergeist. You turn our kids into the Antichrist. And the demon, that you planted in that girl—made her hurl. Now hear my sound … of violence.
WHAT TO DO IF YOUR CORN HAS CHILDREN IN IT
Not only is farming one of the deadliest horror occupations (remoteness, animals, sharp things everywhere), but in the hands of most screenwriters, cornstalks are antennas for receiving evil. Why? Because they’re a clear metaphor for isolation, easy to get lost in, cheap to film in, and—best of all—very, very hard to see in. Because cornfields are such ripe horror territory, they’re often infested with demons, sign-making aliens, winged carnivores, and worst of all … fanatical children.
A religious child infestation is every corn farmer’s worst nightmare. The onset is sudden, and the results can be disastrous for the crops. If left untreated, the little buggers will make themselves at home, using inventory to make crucifixes, trampling paths everywhere, and chanting Bible passages day and night. If your infestation has already progressed to conducting human sacrifices and summoning false gods, burn the whole mess and collect government subsidies until next season. But if you’ve caught it early enough, here are some safe, somewhat humane ways of driving them out, each step increasing in severity.
1. FIRE UP THE CROP DUSTER. Farmers use aircraft to spray their fields with bug-killing chemicals. You can employ the same method to counter the effects of corn-dwelling kids. But instead of spraying pesticides, you’ll need to blanket the infected area with something that neutralizes naughty children. Some suggestions:
Crushed Ritalin. Nothing soothes the savage preteen like a bloodstream full of methylphenidate. Get your hands on several cases of Ritalin, mill it into a fine powder, and dust away. Before you know it, the little buggers will be off to find the nearest Sylvan Learning Center. About 40 pills per child should do the trick.
A skimpy tank top. Due to their religious fanaticism, corn-dwelling children dress like eighteenth-century puritans—a weakness easily exploited with a single piece of twenty-first-century clothing. One of the female pests will happen upon the tank top and try it on, instantly making her the hottest girl in the cornfield. The other females will divide into two groups: those who befriend the girl to bask in her popularity, and those who denounce her as a “total whore.” The males, meanwhile, will practically tear one another apart trying to be with her. Result? What had been a harmonious, God-fearing community is now a John Hughes movie, and the colony destroys itself from within.
Pot brownies. It doesn’t matter what kind of demon they have protecting them, nothing has more power over a child than the smell of fresh-baked brownies—especially when you’ve been gnawing on nothing but raw corn for months. Drop a few pot-laced batches (you’re on your own when it comes to scoring the ingredients) over the focal point of the infestation and wait for the hungry vermin to gobble them up. When you hear “Redemption Song” or “Comfortably Numb” in the distance, that’s your cue to drive into the field, round them up (they won’t resist), and dump them at the nearest 24-hour diner, where they’ll share a plate of gravy fries and talk about death till the sun comes up.
2. BUILD A BASEBALL FIELD. If crop dusting comes up short, don’t despair. In the late 1980s, a loophole was created in the “all movie cornfields are evil” law, and you can reap the benefits with only a small investment of time and money.
First, clear a few acres of your corn, preferably near your farmhouse. Next, build a baseball field. You’ll need some dirt, chalk, fencing (for the backstop), a few poles, some lights, and, of course, regulation bases. The whole shebang shouldn’t run more than a few hundred thousand dollars, assuming you do the labor yourself.
Once the field is complete, it shouldn’t be more than a few days before deceased Hall-of-Famers show up for practic
e. At this point, your cornfield has been transformed from evil to merely enchanted, and the children will be forced to leave.
A word of warning: If you leave the baseball field up too long, you’ll be swarmed with motorists who felt compelled to drive all the way to your farm to see it. You also run the risk of your dead father showing up.
3. CONDUCT AUDITORY WARFARE. In 1989, the United States invaded Panama and cornered dictator Manuel Noriega, who’d taken refuge in the Vatican Embassy. Since they couldn’t enter the embassy without permission, the Army turned to an alternative weapon—rock and roll. Using a huge speaker, they blasted the building with ear-piercing music. Eventually, Noriega surrendered. (In 1993, the U.S. government tried a similar thing during the Waco standoff, with less desirable results.)
Aim a group of giant concert speakers at the infested area and blast the most child-repellent noise you can think of. The vermin will either be driven out or driven insane, which is a win-win situation as far as you’re concerned. A few playlist possibilities:
The O’Reilly Factor for Kids audiobook. Imagine the horror of getting advice on being a teenager from the 50-something who wrote this: “The adult doesn’t have to be in the room snappin’ to OutKast, but one of these specimens must be somewhere on the premises.”
Jimmy Buffett’s “Margaritaville.” Scientists have proven that listening to this song causes acute hemorrhaging of the eardrums in anyone under 47.