Crack yourself a cold one...

... and put your feet up while Fatty McGee buys himself an airplane, don't know when he'll be back again...

Well, actually yeah, I do. Twelve hours from Point A to Point B ain't bad - just involves a pass through of some white caps, barren tundra, fat guys in little coats, a questionable nation, and maybe a Moosehead or two.

In the meantime, lose it over this, this, and this (funny how I could only stay off the global burnfest rantolas for about the same period of time that Nicole stayed off the Scooby snacks).