How I Spent My 35 Minutes Waiting For The Missile

Full disclosure: I couldn’t remember how to spell missile.

Minutes 1-5:  How do I find out who to blame?

Minute 6: Who cares? If it’s my side, well, mistakes happen. If it’s the other side, they should all be locked up for getting us killed. And of course whoever owns the missile and fired it off, I guess they’re to blame too.

Minutes 7-11: Bigger issue. The constipation problem. I had a plan to take care of this but it involves several hours of intense concentration + the canned prunes I brang with me on vacation. Brung? How can I get blasted into eternity only half finished? Not with the prunes, but with the, you know, post-prunes. How am I supposed to concentrate?

Minutes 12-18: Tipped all the room cleaners on this floor. They weren’t allowed to stop changing the linen, in case the missile alert turned out to be a false alarm, or worse yet, caused by that other hotel, the one closer to the lagoon. Leilani was so cute: “What you doing so long ever day in that batroom, man?”

Minutes 19-24: Googled the plot for Miracle Mile (1988), which is basically the same thing happening here, only in L.A. Happy ending? Can’t remember! Runtime, 87 minutes. Damn!

Minutes 25-30: Looted the mini-bar. Rediculous prices! Shameful. Absurd. But now I won’t be paying for it. Sooooo bloated. I am paying for it.

Minutes 31-34: Just realized (things come clear when death is near) that this is the best possible time to meet chicks. Nine months from now, babies would be born, if we weren’t all dead.

Minute 35: Can’t quite get my swim trunks snapped shut…

2 Responses

  1. i love this so much

    • thanks. it was a ball sharing the same emotions with everyone around me, if only for 35 minutes, before the all clear spoiled the mood, everybody got up off their knees, and the churches emptied out

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