The plane did not have an engine explode shortly after takeoff, which would have forced us into the Pacific Ocean and forced me to quickly grab a plastic bag to secure my external hard drive, where everything I’ve ever written is stored. It would have been tricky since the plastic bags were in my carry-on in the overhead bin; I also would have grabbed my backpack for my granola bars and water bottle filled which we would have had to partition out amongst the survivors floating on the raft for two days before we were rescued.

Nor did two terrorists attempt to take over the plane; I would have shot one with a gun that they had brought aboard after I had disarmed the other and banged his head on an armrest. This would have made me a bit of a hero, and I would have certainly made the morning talk-show circuit, where Katie Couric would prove to be very affable, and also stand for myself in court, where the lone surviving terrorist would swear revenge and, my life now in danger from his compatriots in his secret organization, I would have to enter the CIA witness protection program, fake my death and become Richard Donovan and move to Vancouver, where I’d want to go because I have a crush on a girl there; this wouldn’t well please my CIA handler, but I’d tell him that I can’t be expected to live my life as a lie and also have prospects of a long-term relationship, and I just don’t do the short stuff, so I might as well try something out with someone who knows the dead Jacob Dodson, who would have gotten a book deal from Write Bloody to publish his book of poetry Jacob Dodson Does Women before he died, which would have to be published posthumously with the profits, scant, going to my parents, who would know that I was alive because I would leave things that could only be done by me in public places, which would be tricky, because Jacob Dodson is a bit public, but Richard Donovan would have to lay low and not perform poetry in front of people who‘d recognize him, even though I'd turn to a goatee to help disguise myself, but it’d be interesting, and I think faking my death could be novel and if things worked out with me and the Vancouver girl that’d be great, I mean, I live in Austin and I figure at best we could have a conversation on Skype in a couple months but if terrorists attacked and things played out right it could just be a month or so, which would be a lot more convenient.

But nothing exploded and terrorists didn’t attack the plane and everything went smoothly and normally and my revelry was for a time interrupted by Pirates: Band of Misfits, which was delightful but the sound was going in and out and that was frustrating. After everything else I imagined going wrong, sound troubles were pretty pedestrian.

Jacob Dodson is a poet, performer and writer who is on jacobdodson.com not nearly as often as he is looking at Earth Porn on reddit.