3,000 Miles of Ass
By Rob Rosen
I absolutely hate to fly. Always have. Something about being suspended so many miles up in the air leaves me feeling, well, uneasy. It just doesn’t seem natural for us to be up there like that. And flying cross-country is even worse. I mean, an hour-long trip is one thing, even I can tolerate the stress for that long, but four hours is pure, unadulterated torture.
In other words, it’s no wonder that I wind up in the men’s bathroom several times before each trip. Yep, truth is, my stomach gets that upset. The one saving grace about that particular trip, though, was that it was a red-eye from San Francisco to New York and I’d get to sleep most of the way, allowing me to forget that I was hurtling headlong into oblivion. Still, my belly was in knots before t
