One thing everyone should be able to do.

Picture the scene, you're on a packed commercial flight, a 737, or a 727. (that's important later.) You're nicely settled into your newspaper, a cup of airline coffee in front of you. Apparently there's due to be sizeable growth in some sector or other over some amount of time. Also, there's a picture of a pretty girl advertising telephone charges. The coffee tastes of shit though.

You glance around the cabin. Damn, but air hostesses wear too much makeup, they're as dark as arabs. Like that guy. Or that one. It dawns on you that for a flight between Dublin and Paris there's an awful lot of arabs. You look at your mate sitting across the aisle from you. He's asleep. You're being daft.

After all, remember that article where that madwoman got all worked up about there being arabs on the plane. Idiot. And as a nice liberal young man, you know full well that racial profiling like this is wrong. It's just as likely to be a grandmother from Wexford hijacking the plane.

But, in this case, it's not. The arab men stand up. There's about six of them. Two barge their way into the cockpit. There's screaming everywhere. One at the front shouts for attention. To get it, he cuts the airhostess' throat. The six of them are armed with stanley knives.

You weigh in about 200lb, and are short for your height. At a guess, you'd say you have about an inch of fat around your belly. Less around your neck. Either way, you've got a low centre of gravity and outweigh the nearest terrorist by about 50 lb. He's not scared though. Fuck it, neither are you. You weigh up your life and the best you can come up with is an ex girlfriend who won't get a drunken midnight phonecall on your birthday.

They're spread along the aisles. Beside you, a sales rep from Navan is crying. You look at your mate and nod. In one swift move, you stand up and start running headlong at the terrorist up the aisle. Your mate stands up to watch your back. The terrorist turns to face you, stanley blade at the ready. In interviews later, you say you could see the fear in his eyes. You can't, you're running too fast.

He gets you in the chest. Turns out potato waffles with cheese saved your life. The blade gets you right in the man boob. Of course you knock him over, and headbutt him in the face. You keep punching him until a beautiful teary woman pulls you off him and presses a bandage to your wound. Spurred on by your actions, other passengers tackle the other terrorists.

Unfortunately, the terrorists killed the pilots. Not to worry, you've played enough Flight simulator to land this baby. You bring it in for a perfect landing. Later, after the plane is evacuated, and the news crews have dispersed, you get a quick blowjob from the woman in seat 4C.

You're hailed as a hero, but when you're interviewed, you set forth your views on the current middle east situation, being careful to attack the global political situation that encourages events like these.

Grainne Seoige is so impressed she gives you her number and whispers the words 'I'm not wearing knickers' after the interview. Your mate is getting similar treatment (only from Alan Cantwell).

Piece of pish, really.