“Did you know that the first manned hot air balloon flight was in 1783, in France?” No, jerkwad, I didn’t, I just came up here to float among the birds and have a good time. “See, hot air is less dense than cold air, that’s why hot air balloons go up.” What? I’m sorry, I fell asleep during your jargon-fest, Bill Nye the Boring Guy. “We’re over 1,000 feet in the air right now.” What is this, Star Trek?
If he’s standing next to a woman he seems to tolerate and they don’t have rings on their fingers, he’s going to do it. He’s probably going to wait until you just get to the good part of your story about how your dog used to go hot-air-ballooning with you until he ate a sandbag, and then the rest of the ride will be all about them, how romantic they are, and why you’re standing in the corner with your arms crossed, pretending not to notice two people pledging their love to each other. Well, my dog loved hot air balloons, ok? When he passes all that sand and can come back here, I’ll notice you lovebirds.
Jesus Christ, why do they even invite this lady? You’re finally up high enough to get in some good pointing at stuff like rivers and towns, and suddenly the only thing anyone’s pointing at is the woman dangling from a rope. Not only does she make the whole thing about her, all her thrashing and screaming and people trying to pull her up makes for a very bumpy ride. It’s like, if you wanted to scream about how much you love your husband and kids, and how if you ever see them again you promise God you’ll be a better person, just scream that at home.