A Blonde Radios the Air Traffic Controller (A short story)
Blonde: Breaker, Breaker-One Nine. I am in the air in a small plane and the pilot is dead. I don't know how to fly. Over.
ATC: "This is air traffic control and I hear you loud and clear. Just try to relax. I'll talk you through this and get you back on the ground. Everything will be fine. What is your position?"
Blonde: "Doggy style and then cowgirl, but I got off of him when he died. Do I need to get back on top?"