The screw up

   By: Cody DiCavalcante

It wasn’t very long until I was inside the Pentagon. Sucking on a real fine peice of ginger, I instinctively started to index my wife’s shoes into chronological order while looking for my club sandwich. There wasn’t much time left. I would have to be quick. I was to meet with the President of Timberland Industries, Kinko Pappo. An industrail lubrication company that didn’t exactly specialize in lubricants. It had been secretly smuggling asphalt chewing gum to the Somali’s ever since I was a wee baby. I was there to stop them. The security check-in was right around the corner. I began to feel a slight urge to piss. The barq’s root beer was flowing through me faster than the vodka at prom 2008. My wife was the look-out. She silently watched from our tiny car in the parking lot. She probably was doing the direct opposite and playing hide and go seek with the Cuban’s. There it was. I was only half an inch from the runway that I’d slam my briefcase on. I hope they don’t find my popsickles. I’ll open a can of whoop ass right in the lobby. A man of about forty-six was manning the station. At that age, he could ahve had a pretty decent office in that mug. He must have failed his driving test one too many times. He gave the wave. The most beautiful fucking wave I’ve ever seen. I was clear. The deer were advised to watch for rocks. This was my time. This was my chance to steal the rock. This was my chance at licking postage. I was a man of winged flight.

I went down a narrow corridor. Green lights shone stupidly into the night, much like my apathy. I touched my inner breast pocket. I left my soul at the door. No turning back now. It was only me and the fat bodyguard walking in front of me, who seemed to have at least ten different plush toys stuff up his asshole. He walked with the sluggishness of Pete and the sassiness of Lady Antebellum. I couldn’t decide if tonights dinner should be salmon cakes or pinched anchovie hairs. Doesn’t matter. I’m going to nail this sonofabitch right where it physically produces bile. I wasn’t feeling very well. It must have been the softshell burger I ate at Jack in The Box. Jack in the Box was famous for being idiotic. I didn’t want to partake in their donations to corrupting my arteries any longer. So long sweet summer. Hello antacids.

There he was. A man of about 5’9″. High on love. Drunk on hate. He had no idea what he was in for. Just a couple more feet and I would be in the office of one of the biggest crouton munchers in America. He opened the door like a winged penguin. His face looked industrial but his intentions were highly pissing me off. He was known around the office as Ed. He assumed they just thought his name was Ed, but the truth of the matter was that his doctor was involved in highly illegal activities and spilled the whole can of beans on Kinko who had alledgedly been battling erectile dysfunction since he was 10. He asked me to sit in a chair. I respectfully declined his hanus offer. I decided to kick his table instead and situate myself indian style in the corner. It wouldn’t be long till he figured I wasn’t the man he wanted to see. I began to open my breifcase but before I could get to the important pie chart extravaganza he shoved a crystal glass into my face.

“Care for some juice?” Asked Kinko

“I don’t think so. I never have liked pleasures such as that.”

He obviously was offended by my intricacies. I could tell by his facial expression. He then offered me a pill that looked like nyquil and I snatched it from his hand without saying thank you. He fell into his chair. I began to cut to the chase. He knew why I was here. I began to feel really weird. My hair took on the texture of a dragon’s left dorsal. I started crying for my mother. It wasn’t long before I was curbside, hugging a tree and kissing who I thought was Aunt Jemima but turned out to be a highly polished car. The same car that Albert Einstein drove to get groceries. I had failed to cut to the chase and even worse throw this scumbag into prison for the rest of his days. My wife pulled around, smelling of American glory and all the in-between. I saluted my sensai then got into the car. Tonight wouldn’t be a exceptional night but with a little sex and candy, it could become something immensely pristine.

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