I flew to London today. On the flight from UT to Boston I sat next to a short, portly man with a rich mustache who sported a camo backpack and heavy work boots and didn't put down his Tom Clancy novel the entire flight. I listened to Julian Casablancas, Brandon Flowers and Passion Pit for eight hours. I ate some Skittles (thanks Lydia) and then I ate the portly man next to me. Still didn't put down his book so I ate that too. I'm too poor to afford in-flight "goodies" and the complimentary thimble of peanuts wasn't exactly doing the trick. hopefully none of you have to endure a hungry pissed off Chris, because then the situation starts to look like this:
The appartment I'm living in is drenched in the fetid stench of pineapple.