Jim was expecting a package from home, but instead got an envelope from the post office. (His name and address were spelled like the result of a bad game of telephone.) It was a notice from the quarantine department asking if they should burn or send back the contraband with his name on it - 200 grams of beef jerky. He decoded the English-like instructions and checked the box marked "incinerate." Why do I have the feeling that, somewhere, a paper pusher in a martial uniform is chomping on a Slim Jim?
2 comments:
aw, that's sad.
Man, a bunch a bastards steal my jerky, I go crazy like Gojiro.
("Crazy like Gojiro"? I can say that?)
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