Maggie first noticed that her flight information rhymed when she found it on the top of her inbox pile at the Bake-Chem Hard Hat Supply and Corn Feed Depot. Under it was paperwork for a 401k plan and her option on health insurance... both of which she was supposed to have filled out weeks before.

Air One, Flight 371.

What a rhyme! What a coincidence! This was a good sign. Maybe the trip would be enjoyable after all. She knew that she hated Suburgh even though she'd never been there. It was just too... Suburgh. Not that the place could help it. She just wished it could be a little more Beltsburgh or Platesburghy. Plus, it had that smell that she'd heard about. "The smell of a thousand butterflies at once," her Uncle Phillip had told her when she was small. As a child, Maggs had thought of this as a good smell, but supposedly it wasn't.

She walked to the airport on the day of her flight. Her house was next door, so it was the logical form of transportation. The airport noise never bothered her. It was just another part of life... like having hands, if you will. So she walked to the airport, checked her luggage, waited for a bit, then got on the plane when it was her turn to board.

When she got to her row, Maggie noticed that her seat was in the middle of a five person row. Flight 371 was on one of those wide- body aircrafts. Maybe no one would show up and she'd be able to sleep on the seats. She pulled out her travel cassette player, put on her headphones, and lay out on her seven seats.

"Excuse me, miss. I think you're in our seats."

Maggie opened her eyes to a skinny man and a balding guy standing over her.

"Oh, sorry... I'll just scoot down. My name's Margaret."

"No problem, Margaret. We'd have done the same thing. I'm Guy, and this here is Ian."

"Are you French?"

"No, we're Fugazi."

"Oh."

Maggie was tired and didn't really want to talk to anyone, so she closed her eyes, turned her tunes up, and tried ignoring the French guys. "Hey! Oh, sorry for yelling." It was the skinny French guy. "I figured you couldn't hear me. We couldn't help but overhearing what you're listening to. That's the Five Deadly Venoms, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Man, they're horrible." This was from the balding guy.

Maggie was a little embarassed. "I don't think they're bad. I have a friend who knows them. I went to one of their shows at the club once."

"That's too bad... man, they just rip our sound off. The singer either sounds like Ian or me on all the songs. And with lyrics like 'Hello/ Old School/ You're just staying cool,' man... it's horrible."

"This is your Captain, Jeremy Enigk, speaking. Don't flatter yourself too much guys. There's more of me in there than anything else. The Five Deadly Venoms is punk emo gone bad. If this is all that's following Sunny Day Real Estate, I might as well crash this plane right now. All that work for nothing! Just listen to that first song, 'Vice Grips vs. Kissing Lips.' Arrrgh!"

"But keep going!" The skinny guy was jumping in. "If 'Word Trap' isn't a crappy attempt to duplicate my phrasing, it's... it's... hey, it is just a crappy attempt at my phrasing. It's not that I mind people copying me, I just expect them to add something more to the music. This is almost taking a step backwards."

"Yeah, right to Jane's Addiction. That's us all over that third track," a steward commented. "Is that what we sounded like?"

"This is your Captain again. Get back to work, Perry."

The steward grumbled and moved on down the aisle.

"Well, I really don't care what you guys think." Maggie closed her eyes again, this time turning the volume on her cassette player up even louder. She opened her eyes a minute later when she felt something tugging at her fingers.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, ahhh... I was just trying to get ahold of your cassette player so I could throw that tape away."

"Aren't you Captain Enigk? Shouldn't you be flying the plane?"

"We haven't taken off yet. Don't worry."

He took off down the aisle with her tape. Maggie looked out the window and saw him running across the tarmac and towards her house. Maybe this was a sign that she should skip her trip to Suburgh. As she sat there thinking, the steward dropped three mini-bags of peanuts in her lap. She handed two of them to the French guys, grabbed her bag, and walked off the plane.

Legal Garbage: For the record, this review is satire, baby. Fugazi, Sunny Day Real Estate, Perry Farrell and the rest of the gang never said that shit. But we hope they would if they had the chance.

-Chip Chanko