If You Recline Into Me With Your Seat, I'll make Your Flight a Living Hell

Look, I know we don�t know each other. We haven�t even met. But I have to let you know: I�m behind you right now, with an aggregate 12 centimeters of legroom for my 6�1� frame, so we have to see eye to eye on this issue.

If you recline your seat any significant distance, I�ll punch you on the top of the head, right in the soft spot. If you were a baby, I would kill you. Then again, if you were a baby, why would you be flying by yourself? That would puzzle me so much that I would once again be forced to kill you.

It won�t stop there, either. Continual breeches of our mutual trust will result in further verbal and/or physical ramifications, including, but not limited to, kicking, screaming, and savage beatings with the AirFone.

You don�t think I�m serious? Try me. I�m trying to get some work done in the name of legitimate journalism and you�re trying to prevent me from solidifying my position as �featured writer.� If you were to turn around right now, you�d see me readying my arsenal of random airplane objects for use in this crusade against unchecked douchebaggery.

So let�s recap, shall we? It�s difficult enough for me to write while the circulation to my feet has been cut off, and if the top of your chair is squarely under my nose, the situation isn�t going to get any rosier for either of us. So don�t complain and learn to fucking sleep sitting up.

Thanks for flying the friendly skies, asshole. (On another note, if the flight attendants would kindly stop beating the motherloving shit out of my left elbow with their fucking drink cart, that�d be fucking stupendous.)