Commander Jones turned whiter than a blank whited out blank white paper during a blizzard. His hand shook more than What’s Her Face’s twerking butt*. “We have no tacos and the moon base is celebrating Taco 2045.” His self-frying brain cells made him open the door to a universe emptier that an amoeba’s brain and the Seattle Mariners pennant wall. He stepped out.
The pressure inside his body overwhelmed outer space’s like Mahomes going deep against the New York Giants during a two-minute drill. Two things wrong. Oops! Naturally the exploded commander didn’t give a toss about closing the spacehip’s door. Everything inside the spaceship shot out the door; food, medicine, Parcheesi boards, everything. They all stampeded out the spacecraft like fifth-graders hearing the class-dismissed bell at the end of the day. That’s three things that went wrong. My bad.
* = Ignorance of her name kinda lessens the impact of this scintillating writing. Oops, four things wrong.
– Paul De Lancey, The Comic Chef, Ph.D.
Check out my novel, the hilarious apocalyptic thriller, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms?
Jones has been warned about this before. I don’t have the crystal ball with me but demotion can’t be far away at this stage.
I don’t want to tell him. He’s already in pieces.
Sounds like he had a blast.
His high-school year book had him as the person most likely to go places.