I hear you but seriously, your crying towels must be the size of like, car covers. What do you do if they can't find room for them on the upper deck? Try to aim it in the lav or just sob onto the floor and trust it finds its way out a mast.

No! You fly this way until you have a heart attack or stroke, or maybe both at the same time. Then, if they don't screw up your rehab too badly and leave you a drooling tranqed-out zombie; you can sell all the crap you slaved so hard over and move into a trailer park near a lake, eat cat food, ride a three wheeler and pray the crystal meth freaks next door don't try to steal it.