Great Balls of Flier

I came across this odd little note dated 1942 while sorting through a four generation accumulation of papers and memorabilia I somehow inherited. In fact, I had thrown it in a mammoth trash pile accumulating in my backyard next to the shed in which all this stuff is stored. I went in the house, came back a couple of hours later and the wind had blown the thin, onion-skin, type-written carbon copy sheet right in my path. I almost crumpled it up and threw it back, when I noticed the red letters "COPY" printed in large type across the page. Intrigued, I read the first few lines and then became wholly drawn into the eloquently humorous tale. Once I had realized the literary value of what I held in my hands, and that it must be the only copy remaining in existence, it seemed imperative that I share it with the web world, and thereby preserve its acerbic grandeur forever. So, without further introduction, I present to you the unedited text for the first time in over half a century. -- Editor

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Miami Beach, Florida

March 19, 1942

Operations Manager
Chicago & Southern Air Lines
St. Louis, Missouri

Dear Sir:

I have been very reluctant to write you concerning a matter of so personal a nature as this, but as the passage of time has neither improved my physical condition nor completely soothed my temper, I feel compelled to give vent to my wrath.

About the middle of February, I boarded your plane at St. Louis for Memphis. I was lead to believe that your planes were equipped with toilet facilities. Consequently, even tho I had just taken a pint of castor oil, I felt no alarm should nature call me during the trip.

Now to begin with, I am a very large man, weighing a good bit over 250 lbs., in fact so obese am I that among my intimate friends I am familiarly known as "old satch".

In the second place, during the trip I did have urgent need of adequate toilet facilities to ease a most violent case of the shitz. Now dammit man, in the third place, if you can, by any stretch of imagination construe that god-dammed combination spittoon and bear-trap to be a toilet in any sense of the word, I'll be delighted to kiss your ass.

It was only by superhuman effort that I was able to get my huge bulk into your so-called toilet compartment at all, and I shudder to think what would have happened had I not been able to do so. I'll leave that part up to your own imagination.

The real concrete evidence, however, of your almost animal negligence is the sorry condition of my testicles (balls to you). Once within the inner chamber I was amazed, then furious to observe the dainty receptacle provided which was intended, I presumed, to be a man-sized toilet. You can well imagine the difficulty I encountered centering my great bulk over such a tea-cup like affair. The frail and tricky construction of this aerial thunder-mug damn nearly caused me the embarrassment of complete castration as the whole contraption folded up under my weight and my traveling bags caught in the swinging doors each time I endeavored to extricate my testicles (balls to you).

In summation, I consider this my closest encounter with utter disaster, and while time has tended to assuage my feelings to the extent that I bear you no ill will, I do feel that you should be appraised of the terrible danger that lurks within your so-called luxuriously appointed man-sized toilets. Nuts to you.

Even tho I will never be the same

As ever,

(Signature deleted) Miami Beach Florida

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Reader please note: I did not delete the signature. It was missing from the carbon copy itself, leaving both you and me, alas, in the dark as to the identity of this eloquent, though hapless individual.