since I would rather compete in a spelling bee in my underpants than leap off a crane with only a rope tied around me. At least I’d come away from the spelling bee with a medal. As the plane drops several hundred (thousand?) feet, I white-knuckle the armrest. Jason’s prayers may be a joke, but mine are very, very real. God, please deposit me safely on the ground in London … and in the process, maybe you could find a way to get Jason to shut it?
