Helicopter directions, as discovered by Monica on the 2 Amys pizzeria site this week: "Please call ahead to make heliport arrangements."

I said that, given my week, if we wanted to go for pizza by helicopter, I would steal us a helicopter. Emily suggested I explore this in the blog.

Well.

I'm not much for thievery. I may steal your money, your woman or your casino with 10 or more lovable friends, but I am not going to steal your helicopter. Unless you want me to. If you leave your heliport unlocked with keys in the chopper ignition, the rotors running and the Helicopter for Dummies book fat and yellow in the cockpit, I'm going to consider it a sign. If your money, woman and casino are also in your helicopter at the moment, I cannot be held responsible. Remember the time you left your dry cleaning at the dry cleaners for more than 30 days? The theft would be like that, only with your chopper, money, woman, and casino.

And if you are a woman helicopter owner, leave theft-able ice cream.

Because anyone can own a helicopter. Anyone can fly a helicopter. And anyone can steal a helicopter from someone who owns one in order to fly. All you have to do is believe, like a Tinkerbell dreaming of a felony charge, a Valkyrie soundtrack and a gasoline-fueled flirtation with sky.

I would take your helicopter up the river for the scenery, then over the city for the strafe. Crowds would cheer and children would leap for the landing skids, and I would gently rock the helicopter from side to side to knock them off — falling back into the arms of their parents, in love as well with pizza and helicopters — before returning to the blue, my new home, and racing to pizza I'd spotted on my stolen pizza radars.

I've never eaten a 2 Amys pie before. Yet all this is what I would do.

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