Of Helicopters, Hell and Help

I've been thinking a lot about heles lately (as Jim Long calls 'em... see dude in photo below with Chinook in background). I once had this whole plot for a novel about this chick who, in a post-apocalyptic setting in Georgia/SC, manages to convince some dude working for the only people left with licensed chopper "priviledges" outside of law enforcement, the local news stations, to set her down behind "sanctioned territories" so she can help save her family trapped there.

Of course she has to give pilot-dude a blow job to get there, but then she comes back, later in the book in the action part, and ties up the dude and punishes him real bad, while stealing the station's chopper out from under him, of course.

(NOTE: If you're some greasy little screenplay "writer" and try to steal this plot line, I will come and get you. Note Creative Commons licensing logo now on this site. And I'll come to get you in my hele too. Send my lawyers in one at least.)

Anyways... enough from the depths of my little mind, and post-apocalyptic has soooo been done to death lately. See Children of God, Cormac Mac and Charles McNair for instance. It's soooo last-century male really.

But if one was the paranoid kind, a chopper would really be the way to travel, likely the only way to travel, if our interstate system is somehow destroyed. Airspace would be under heavy, deep shit rules and regs, but if you could commandeer your own hele and bribe the shit outta the right people, well... off you go to save the planet!

Cindy T. got me thinking again about the value of chopper time with this great column of her. Maybe she'll want to go halves-zies on a JetRanger III? (Damn that's a pretty thing.) I know she must have plenty of rural people too.

We can always land in Bernita's yard!