Pete Zahut screamed as he flung out of the single propellor aircraft.
The man who had shoved him out of the airplane was one Billy Ibn Fulan, part of the Russian Mafia, and a member of the KGB. Pete screamed as his huge, chunky body, fell to the earth like the Rock of Gibraltar.
50,000 feet. That’s how high Pete Zahut was in the air right now. His face was contorted from the g-forces as his half ton body plummeted down. Pete Zahut was only twenty, but he was certainly big. Years of eating at Pizza Hut had earned him the nickname and motto “Pete Zahut”, as his first name was Peter.
Commercials for healthy food almost always showed a picture of Pete Zahut when comparing him to a fit person. With pasty toothpaste like skin, a squat body, and chunky legs shorter than a pencil sharpened to the nub, it was a miracle that the airplane could carry him up so high, and an even greater one that Billy Ibn Fulan of the KGB could move his body.
Pete Zahut cried into his thick, chunky hands. His life was going to end, it was inevitable. All those years of gaining weight, all for it to be thrown away. The tears flew into the air, dissolving into a cold mist.
Suddenly, Peter saw out of the corner of his eye, an object streaking toward him in the sky. He screamed like a stuck pig, and tried to swim out of the way, but it is hard to swim if you are in the air.
Pete Zahut crumbled like a tin-can run over by a speeding car as he collided with the Boeing 747 taking its usual route from Texas to Wisconsin. The wing Pete hit sheared straight off, the sheer force of Pete Zahut’s body causing the plane to tilt. Passengers inside of the airplane cried in terror as the Boeing 747 took a nosedive to certain death.