Spatulas were not, apparently, the appropriate

Spatulas were not, apparently, the appropriate gift for one's ten year anniversary after all. "Dammit!" he thought as he raced back to the Dollar Store, where he hoped to find
a 99 cent beer to give to his communist wife on their ten year anniversary. He was in sales so that meant
he'd met his quota for the month and bought his wife an anniversary gift in one fell swoop. Pleased with himself, he leaned over the table for a quick peck. Communist-schommunist
bloody hell, he thought. To his surprise his wife was actually Captain Jean Luc Picard, still in uniform, but with a large smearing of lipstick across his mouth. "Huh?" He lunged
"Who do you think you are?" was his reply.
My name is Bond. James Bond.
James Bond Schluchenbach, to be even more exact. Biggest nerd in my class. Even our dorky science teacher is cooler than me. In the cafeteria, I sit alone. Stone cold alone.
I sit in the cafeteria alone and fantasize that everybody else dies from the rancid egg salad that I was too smart to eat. Everybody dies but Sheri Sponible. She drops into my arms
A lunch lady uniform, including the hairnet for my beard telling me, "since we are the last survivors of this cafeteria, we are now the New Lunchladies! Are dreams have true!"
Though the grid can has fried and most of humanity was croaked, we had joy and know-how among us, and made us a great First Meal of hot-dog pizza and vanilla pudding.

5 Comments

BlastedHeath May 11 2017 @ 20:55

Haha, now I see I could have stuck with my usual neo-Victorian style for the narrator.
LordVacuity May 11 2017 @ 21:44

I are face shamed true. That will be the last time that I listen to my head. (probably not)
BlastedHeath May 11 2017 @ 22:27

No, it was I who was misled by second thoughts here. Carry on, wayward entity.
LordVacuity May 11 2017 @ 22:33

pure your path and the star in the space, your so called Sun, provide you warm.
BlastedHeath May 11 2017 @ 22:53

Spacibo, gratio meka.

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