Watching this crappy abomination of a movie. Tom Cruise is a decrepit pensioner whose face is looking increasingly like an overwashed sock full of marbles. Yet somehow I’m still gunning for Jack Reacher to krav maga his way out of the latest scrape. Like there’s really any chance a washed up old grandad like him could beat all those young body-builders up.
I’m a third his age, and at least twice as handsome, and I’m falling apart at the seams.
Fucking Hollywood – raising the fight expectations of the elderly like that. Making innocent young men look ridiculous in front of their girlfriends.
How dare you.
Meanwhile, during a lull in the action, I crash out of my vicarious sedentary adrenaline rush, and my eyes rudely bump into the Galaxy chocolate bar wrapper perched on the edge of the desk, angled towards me. It looks like some kind of wild animal opened it in a desperate frenzy.
It’s one of those big bars. You know – the kind that’s meant to feed a family of 5 for a month if you follow government guidelines.
I have a blurry flashback of me opening it 10 minutes ago. Only it’s not really me, it’s like when the werewolf wakes up the morning after.
10 minutes is a generous estimate if I’m honest. Maybe closer to 5.
And now there are only 2 of the 7 rows of squares left.
My God, how is that even possible?
Then I feel the familiar sting of melted chocolate between my thumb and forefinger. Curses – a smoking gun. As I lick my lips in prescient dread, sure enough I find the guilty grease of shame. Like chocolate lipstick clumsily smeared all around my mouth. Because that’s all a dirty chocolate slut like me deserves.
Just then the full horror of the situation dawns on me.
I’VE BEEN SET UP!!!
Is there a chocolate thief with powers of hypnotism hiding out in this room?
Yes! Yes, it’s the only possible explanation!
When I catch the bastard there’ll be hell to pay. I was keeping that chocolate bar for a special occasion.
Be careful though, he is clearly well versed in the arcane arts. He made it look exactly like I did this god dammit. I’ve heard about this kind of thing. It has all the hallmarks of the CIA, or NSA, or NRO.
Not acronyms to be trifled with.
I bet it’s the same crew who polished off that bottle of scotch 2 Christmases ago. It was meant to last 2 weeks. Bet they sabotaged that too. Exact same signature tactics. The hypnosis, smearing traces around my mouth, inducing a fake hangover.
But what could I have done to incur their wrath and necessitate a trip across the Atlantic?
Well I did look at Wikileaks the other day. That’s a contender for sure. I’ve been defending Russia again over dinner. Doubt that helped. Oh and I did say bad things about McDonald’s the other day.
Yep – secret services for sure.
I’d better stay frosty, switch to night-vision mode, sleep with a gun under my pillow, set claymores around the perimeter.
The bitch of it all is that now I’m obliged to finish off the 2 remaining rows they wastefully left. No true respecter of chocolate would leave it that way. As any responsible adult knows, once opened, chocolate rapidly turns into lethal poison. If a small child was to break into the house and innocently consume it I’d never forgive myself.
Oh well – I deserve a treat after all of the drama.
Nom nom nom, nom nom nom …. muuuuuuuuuuuuuuurgh …. no more chaos!