"Coffee, tea, or me?" she asked sweetly,

"Coffee, tea, or me?" she asked sweetly, bending down to adjust my seatbelt. I looked up at her. "Earl Gray, please." I replied, returning to my book.

Did she think it was cute reading the title of my paperback to me? I wasn't buying it. She poured Earl Gray in my lap. Since I was snuggly buckled in I couldn't escape. Then she

emptied a small packet of peanuts on my head & mashed them in with a complimentary towelette. "I hate flying & this helps me cope," she explained before demonstrating the safety ro

w-row your boat song & dance combo for the passengers. "In the event our flight turns into a cruise, please use your seat cushion as a makeshift life preserver," she continued.

That's when Larry decided to start drinking again. Flight 8047 to Wilburville. It wasn't the traffic jam. The storm. The divorce papers. It was this stupid Southwest Attendant's la

bia: It's what's for breakfast' button. Maybe on a different day Larry would've thought it was funny. But today he crushed three double Jack n cokes and couldn't feel a thing. Prob

Ably it was the headache he woke up with. It was one of those days. A handmade assortment of seasonal goods fell on his lap. This included a bag of twelve pinecones. One for each

extra finger he had grown. It was a peculiar phenomenon, one of which was left unanswered. Feeling uneasy, he placed each pinecone on his dresser, his thoughts drifted towards

the owls that lived in the tall pine in the woods and had no fingers at all. He considered giving the owls the finger, but decided it would be too traumatic to remove it from his

rectum where he was now trying to dig out the spear of lonhengrin and some other relicts they were trying to hide from Custer's eye for luster. Luster was the rival god involved.