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www.thejustinjohnsonshow.com
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Published September 21, 2012

Groupon’s are great. They’re a great idea and a great way to save a buck or two while indulging in things you normally wouldn’t.

And, I love them.

And by love, I mean I share the same feeling for Groupon’s as I do any other arbitrary thing that I don’t care about all too much. The thing is, I never feel the need to pull the trigger on purchasing one. I’ve done it a few times, but for the most part I see them, imagine what it would be like to indulge in them, click delete, and move on with my radical way of living life.

That said; please indulge me as I journey through what my Groupon purchase would be like for the purchase of $29 for Fox-1 Combat Mission in a Fighter-Jet Simulator ($59 Value).

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Ask me if I’ve ever flown a plane. Go ahead. Ask me. Just asssskkkkk me!! Okay fine, don’t ask me, but the answer is no I have not. Have I thought about it? You bet your ass I have! I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve screamed, “I’M TOP GUN BITCH!” at the top of my lungs driving my car like it’s a plane.

And even though I have the desire and wherewithal to become a top notch top gun, sadly I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m probably not going to become a fighter pilot anytime soon. Pilots gotta train a lot to do that kind of stuff, and honestly, I don’t have the time…these Two Broke Girls episodes aren’t gonna watch themselves ya’ll. Lucky for me, I ain’t gotta train though, because GroupOn just put up a tremendasaurus rex type of deal, which I was barely able to pry myself from watching Kat Dennings throw a hipster zing to purchase!

In a nutshell, this deal promises that “after a brief flying lesson, pilots strap into a fighter-jet simulator for a 45-minute combat session against other guests.” Are you f’n kidding me?! Not only do I get to pretend-fly, but I also get to pretend-go-to-war with others?! DEAL OF MY LIFE!!! Get outta here blonde girl who’s name I don’t know from Two Broke Girls, I’ve got people to zap in the sky!

So I pack my bags (two peanut butter and banana sandwiches…don’t judge me, I’m a soon to be pretend pilot!), and journey to the fake airports of Anaheim! First classy/bitchin’ thing about this place? The parking lot looks exactly like an airport hangar. Bam, nailed it Flightdeck Air Combat Center. I park my sweet C-251 (I imagine there is a kickass plane out there named C-251, right…oh and the “C” stands for Corolla. Affordable and bitchin!), open the door, and enter what, as far as I’m concerned should just be called heaven!

The inside of this place looks like the movie Starship Troopers! I love it! The sweet aroma of confidence has hit my nose and is making its way down to my arms and hands, because I shove the first person I come in contact with, an elderly, but fit man, and tell him, “Lt. Justin here, reporting for dut…reporting to kick some ass is what I’m reporting to!” He looks at me astonished, shakes my hand and escorts me into a Starship Troopin room, where there’s nothing but a single Budweiser poster of a lady in a weird 80?s bikini. Classy. Bitchin. Pilot-y. Love it!

A gentleman barges in the door with a clipboard. “Lieutenant Justin?” he asks?

“NO!” I yell at him. It’s “Lt. Justin.”

He looks at me suspiciously. He’s probably witnessing my mere aura taking over the room and kicking its ass.

“It’s time for your 20-minute classroom lesson Lieut…I mean, Lt. Justin.” he says.

I tell him to go F himself, because “the only way I’m going into a classroom is to teach a lady the proper way a man makes love.” I shake my head, not fully realizing what I just said, then nod as if to say, “yep, I just said that,” and defy the real me that is struggling inside of this Lt. Justin character that this building has created. I grab his clipboard, throw it across the room, take off my clothes and walk out of the room demanding that someone put my flight suit on for me.

I’m immediately tackled by what else, than a beautiful lady who is immediately pulled off of me by some security guards. I walk up to her and whisper in her ear, “trust me, it’s for your own good.” This Lt. Justin guy is too much.

Finally a gentleman provides me with my flight suit, which I begrudgingly put on myself, then exclaim, “I’m ready to save the world, give me my goddamned plane!” A set of triplet dudes escorts me to a room that looks like an exact replica of a cockpit. I slap them in the face! “This isn’t a simulation, the world is in real danger. Now get me a real plane you dumb triplets!” For a guy who was pretty cocky and charismatic, “you dumb triplets” isn’t the kind of zing I thought was coming, but nonetheless, Lt. Justin is still in charge.

They apologize and take me outside. We jump in their new VW Tiguan and exchange some fun banter about the name Tiguan. At one point, I make a joke I can’t remember but ended in, “I’m a Tinguana!” Good one. We arrive at the airport and they drop me off at the US Airways terminal. I walk into check-in like a damned champion, and say, “give me my plane.” They try to play the nice card, telling me I’m not a pilot. I take off running! Jump over those temporary line holder thingies. Yep, jump over all of them! That’s pretty far freakin jump! Then I get to the scanners, I narrowly avoid the first person who is checking id’s, then slip through the scanner, and BAM! I’m knocked the F out by an old lady who hits me with her hard-shell carry-on, and then said, “ain’t no little bitch gonna cut in front of me!”

The cuffs are put on, and I’m carried out of the building by some bulky police officers. My ride ends, but what a ride it was. Thanks Flightdeck Air Combat Center, I’M TOP GUN BITCH!”

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