The Epic Ballad Of Sully And The Devil-Birds
Throughout human history, there have been feats that gave us pause; epic heroes who demanded public declamation. When the forces of Illium sacked Troy, Homer sat down to immortalize the event in flowing prose. When Washington swam the Delaware and beat up Benedict Arnold, everyone got together and built a huge stone copy of his bizarrely-shaped dick. All so that we would never forget. And today, we carry on the tradition of canonizing our ubermensch. After all, when a guy lands a thousand-ton hunk of metal filled with screaming people on a boat-filled strip of water and doesn’t bat an eye, a Wikipedia page and Facebook fan page are certainly in order. But I can’t help feeling that those aren’t enough for Chesley Burnett “Sully” Sullenberger III. The man was a first chair flautist, for Christ’s sake. Screw keys to the city; screw inaugural invitations. It’s time to rock a dedication old school. Sully, this one’s for you. The Epic Ballad Of Sully And The Devil-Birds Sing, O Muse! Of a man most valorous and righteous Of he, the winged son of Danville Who is even now flying high out of LaGuardia, That morose beef patty between two moping buns— Sullenberger—Sullenberger the demi-God Who was thrust that day, all unknowing Into the airborne lair of Skree, the SatanGoose, And her dastardly horde. The birds, all joy-blind From a day of pecking orphan’s eyes And honking on overpasses so as to cause accidents, Hurled at Sully’s plane full speed, The twisted evil in their feathery hearts Drawing them straight and true to his mighty engines. Sully and his crew and human payload, Still freshly of the air, thoughts astir with the hope Of nine salted peanuts and
When not carrying on the proud traditions of our forebears, Michael serves as head writer for and co-founder of Those Aren't Muskets!