0149 — Spicey Grampa, Eight Miles High (Patreon)

We racked up enough miles last year to upgrade our recent overseas tickets to Premium Economy, which means you get microwave rigatoni and little blue "courtesy socks" you can wear to the bathroom. They also offer you Prosecco, but I'm off the solvent so they gave me a handy flute of water, which felt like a million bucks, because I'd only ever heard of the stuff. The socks are great because you can wear them over your already-socks when you pad down to the loo, and they absorb about 80% of the mixed piss that the men from coach leave on the floor. (The men in Business and First very likely do this as well, but I'll never know unless I pencil in zee mustache and moonlight as their somm.)

Anyhow, I thought up this strip in an airplane bathroom somewhere over Greenland. What goes through your mind when ensconced in the hurtling Honey Bucket in the sky?

And have I told you lately how much I love you that at noon Pacific today the "director's cut" of this strip will post in tiers 2 & 3? This b-roll strip thing has become its own language and medium, a riff people name their babies after, and dance to on the night they will remember separately as the peak of a blossoming obsession that could never last.