More than anything, I love sitting in a plane for an hour past my departure time while the cops come onboard and haul away some skinheaded scumbag loser.
It seems an individual with a "violent personality" (to quote the pilot) was about to open a giant can of whoop-ass on his girlfriend while sitting right in seats 19B and C. I guess he got a little cranky and threatened the stewardess when she told him to keep it down and watch his language. Apparently, he didn't think she'd really call the cops.
Bzzzzt! Wrong answer, Eminem. You don't fuck around on planes, at least not any more.
So someone is sleeping in Cleveland tonight while their girlfriend flies the friendly skies with lots of extra leg room.
I'm home now, and it feels pretty damn good. God, I hate to travel.