This morning in the London office a colleague finished his plastic container of pineapple and said “and now, to add to the carbon footprint of my jet-fuel-imported pineapple…” and lofted the tub into the trash can.
Later, waiting over pints at the airport with a colleague from New York, we both laughed and laughed at this clever, dire observation.
Simultaneously we said “waddaya sposeda do?”
“Eat it?” my colleague suggested.
We then launched into a conversation about the apocalypse, laughing over the predicted necessity of him crawling over the dead bodies in the Lincoln Tunnel to reach the mainland, while chuckling at the fact that I will have to fend off him and his cannibal ilk with a shotgun at the narrow place in the highlands where they will attempt to come north to the farmland.
Good times. Good times.