High School Meatheads Don't Die. They Just Become More Annoying.

One would think that in my dearth of years spent in airports, airline lounges and rental car agencies that I would have developed some sort of tolerance for the meatheads that inevitably sit right next to me and talk about nothing ad-nauseam until the free cheesefood products and ginger ale is no longer available. But no; here I sit in the LAX President's Club and my tolerance is no where to be found. I think it's in therapy learning how to endure California freeways and the taxi cabs parked perpendicular to the flow therein.

Apparently the lack of tolerance is a deal breaker for friend of mine, but impinging on my freedom to zone out whilst reading the Robb Report is an exploitation of your freedom of speech. In fact, my intelligence has plunged off a cliff like Thelma & Louise.

Is it bad to dream about killing someone with a flip-flop to the cranium? I wonder what the dorks on CSI would say about that one? Someone please make the jackasses stop talking and the evil voices in my head go away.