Bobby still has no idea who Ned Lagin is.
Look again. That’s not a balloon.
Phil and Mrs. Donna Jen have assumed what can only be described as boogie-posture.
You just gonna keep posting compulsively all night?
Yes. It’s like knitting. It calms me.
When did you become afraid of flying?
It’s not the flying. I have no fear of flying whatsoever. I like watching out the window during takeoffs and landings; to tell the truth, I still have a child’s fascination with airplanes.
So what is it?
It’s every single thing that surrounds the flying: showing up early, and having your shit together, and being locked in a tube with strangers, and cops everywhere. And then assuming Radical Islamic Terrorists–
Which Hillary Clinton will not say.
–don’t kill me, which they probably will, at the end of the flight I am 2,000 miles away from my bed, books, and desk. And toilet.
There’s a bed and toilet waiting for you.
Sure, full of strangers’ filth and rot.
Your entire family–some of whom are actively dying–will be together for the first time in several years. Your beloved Brother and Sister-in-Law on the Dead are looking forward to seeing you. If you act like an asshole, I will slap you like a wife. You will behave, goddammit, and you will not talk about politics and you will not grouse and gripe.
I’m not a good traveler.
You are like french fries. Still, though: you will not be an asshole.
Are you giving me The Talk?
How old am I gonna be before I stop getting The Talk?
Up to you, isn’t it?
Quick tip. What’s your favorite sentence the past few weeks?
Oh, that would have to be “We’re all gonna fucking die.”
Right. Let’s leave that one at home. Don’t pack it.
What if I need it?
You won’t need it.
Please don’t be an asshole.
Christmas is known for miracles.