As you are all well aware by now, Bryan is mere weeks away from taking the matrimonial plunge. As a direct result of this, I sit here before you, typing with sweaty fingers. Not because I’ve spent the last hour exercising my duties as best man, scouring the internet for discount bachelor party strippers with minimal venereal diseases. No, it’s because I just booked my flight to Denver. On an airplane. And I don’t fly so well.
You know the guy you sometimes sit next to on the plane whose eyes are shut, and would almost look asleep were it not for every muscle in his body rigid and clenching like a junkie who’s just gone cold turkey? Yeah, that’s me. Thank god for the airport bar. Otherwise, I don’t know that I’d ever be able to board that winged, jet-powered sky dildo. I wasn’t always such a wiener, though. I had kind of a bad flight once...
Fortunately, once the space squid got done humping, he wandered off and left our aircraft awash in a sticky mess of what looked like green pudding. Needless to say, the experience put me off sky travel quite a bit. And I can’t order calamari anymore without feeling both slightly aroused and a little violated. But, atmospheric monsters be damned. I’ve ordered my plane tickets, and come hell or high water (or octo-spooge), I’m determined to make it to that wedding in one piece, even if they have to pour my inebriated ass off the plane when we land.
Beer: Amstel Light
Music: Muddy Waters