Bless You Mr. West

Bless Southwest for once. They texted to notify us about blizzard connections in Chicago, in time to switch flights to go through Vegas instead. Nice.

Now that our flight connections and reservations for the next few months are all made, I suppose it's time (turn head, spit to ward off Evil Eye) for crap to start disrupting the neat schedule. Or maybe it will just be this one little blizzard in Chicago.

HA ha HAAAA!

We can either protect our clothes by carrying that  suitcase on the plane, or protect the Christmas presents by carrying that one on instead. Clothes will lose. Nice stuff from Spain shouldn't be running wild in some lost luggage locker.

Hmmm. Change planes at McCarran Airport: SLOT MACHINES! It's been more than twenty years since Plotnik won a big jackpot of quarters there and then zeroed in/spaced out so completely that he missed his connection to L.A. by two and a half hours.

When he finally rejoined the real world he walked to the counter to ask the woman if his plane had arrived yet, and she said Sir, it left a long time ago and another one came in after it and that one took off already too. Where have you been?

Well, Plotnik said, and pointed to the row after row of slot machines. He got a big Tsk Tsk. But he got home with a thick wool sock filled with quarters.

Our old friend and Bron's longtime buddy See-Mo-Nay is here and will house sit while we're gone. Plot is already thinking ahead, to pizza. But he's also considering that Italian place in Massepequa Park on Long Island, a feature of which appeared recently on the Glutton Channel: a 7 1/2 POUND plate of rigatoni, sausage and meatballs.

I mean, come awn! Whatchoo talkin bout! Thass half a bowlin ball a soo-ausages!