Well, I’m back, after a long and action-packed flight, during which I was seated next to an elderly woman with burn bandages on both hands, a penchant for broad gestures, and a powerful thirst for neutral spirits. Generally speaking, she was an unobtrusive neighbor, and I was happy to tear open her package of mixed nuts, or cut up her briscuit, content to accumulate positive karma and bask in the roseate warmth of charity and good fellowship; until she started spilling drinks on me. One on my thigh, one on our feet, and a third brimming glass of vodka and club soda all over my laptop case. Now, since loudly berating a septegenarian burn victim for her lack of dexterity seemed likely to accomplish nothing more than rousing the nearest Air Marshal from his seat, my only option was to join her and start drinking myself. And it’s perhaps due to the liberal and continuing application of this venerable nostrum that I failed to notice until shortly before dawn that I came home with a suffocating head cold. So what I’m saying is, I’m obviously too chickenshit to violate TSA regulations by screaming at burnt old people for getting my socks wet and my MacBook drunk. Also, I’m kind of feverish and producing a surfeit of snot, so it may be a few days before I’m completely back up to speed.
In the meantime, please enjoy my favorite Socratic Dialogue about giant labias.