I Will Gut Your Children in Front of You and Hang You with Their Intestines

Wow, and it’s just that quick. I rolled into the office this morning, settled in, and went to the break room/kitchen to get myself a Diet Dr. Pepper – it tastes more like the real Dr. Pepper. I opened the refrigerator, knelt down to see the bottom row and an empty space where I had left my delicious treats. A nice young assistant was watching Fox News’ morning crew debate whether or not Burger King’s Sponge Bob Square Pants ads were offensive while she waited for her bagel to finish toasting. It was an onion and garlic bagel, and it smelled fantastic. I’m sure she felt a chill run through her body, not because the refrigerator was open or my natural sexual magnetism – I sweat Drakkar Noir - but because the End Times were nigh. In the soon to be smoldering epicenter of a vast wasteland there was no Dr. Pepper where there should have been three 24oz. bottles. I hadn’t had one since last Wednesday, so I’m sure someone thought they were up for grabs, even though they had to know what the consequences would be. Why would I, or anyone else for that matter, have a sense of humor about stolen sodas? I might understand taking one – no I wouldn’t – but three is beyond any type of suitable excuse, explanation, justification, or rationalization. It was time for everyone to die – slowly and painfully. I was regretting never learning how to waterboard people. Then, as I was standing up I saw my babies on the door. Someone hadn’t stolen them, they had just moved them. Armageddon averted. Looking back on it I may have been on the verge of an overreaction. Yes, there would have been a massive breach of innumerable social contracts in cosmic proportion, and some type of righteous retribution would have been demanded, but if losing a soft drink is the worst thing that happens to me, I think I should be counted among the lucky. Diet soda isn’t good for me anyway.