THE FURM

The last time I honked your way I told you that I was going to London, England. I went, I came back and now that I've cleared customs, I'm legally entitled to write some stuff vaguely related to the trip as well as import 1-3 bottles of Pimm's. To all of you who were concerned for my safety concerning the riots that spread due to outrage over Rowan Atkinson crashing his McLaren F1 super car, I thank you for thinking of me amongst your other thoughts like what tomorrow's sandwich will be. Here is the aforementioned stuff, complete with punctuation:

I've been lucky enough to travel all over Europe, North America and whatever continent the Dominican Republic is in, but traveling actually causes me a great deal of stress, mentally and physically. That basically means I get diarrhea. I'm the type of guy who concerns himself with tiny things and humongous things -- in a given day I'll get stressed out about the length of my fingernails, while fascinating myself with thoughts about outer space, the biggest place in the world. I don't know where I was going with this, but be thankful, because any bit of information I hand out could be used against me in a lawsuit or game show. Anyway, I think it might just mean that I don't understand politics. Here, how about this:

I see "The Airport" as a giant challenge. I'm on time for everything because my brain is mostly clock, whereas scientists' are mostly calculators and everyone else's is mostly naked people. If flying was as simple as showing up on time and getting on a plane, it'd be easy pie, no stress, "let's do this again", but it's more like a video game -- there's a bunch of little tests and you can only pass them if you're early enough and have in your possession certain items (passport, shoes not made of bombs).

An airplane is like a bedroom full of people you don't know and instead of beds there are chairs that you have to sit in when told. Even if you are able to get up the only place you can go is the bathroom and the bathroom is as big as one human and one human only.

Then you get to where you're going and no one likes you because you're not from there. I hate tourists because they don't know any of my secret handshakes.

Then you have to go to the airport and airplane again and when you get home you get stressed because you haven't been on the Internet in a week and you're weird about that kind of thing. Chances are, all I missed were some Tweets about food, some Tumbls about Garfield and some Facebook invitations to events whose titles give no indication of what the event is, but I still end up feeling like I did when my family went to Medieval Times without me.

That being said, I had a great time! Every time I got stressed I'd eat beans and things would get funny after that. Laughter is the beans of the soul, and beans are the soul of laughter. I don't mean to slap myself on the cheeks, but that last sentence was very good, and I didn't even think about it, it just came out. Isn't the world weird?

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I tore this ad out of an in-flight magazine. It's the airline's CEO selling his music. Click on it to make it bigger.

This guy is a few lawsuits and a failed brewery away from being Frank d'Angelo. My favourite is the album "Mostly About You". It's like he had nine good songs about his lovely wife but then wrote a real slammin' track about licorice and just had to put it on. I also like the following cover of him crooning on the wing of an airplane, mid-flight:


As they say in SCUBA diving, "Swimming Rules". BUH BIIIII