My Cardboard Balcony

An Idyllic Scene by Belinda Roddie Last time I checked, all the mouth-breathing, tobacco-gnawing, squirrel-faced flat-Earthers were at the local alley, bowling hambones and drinking bad sangria out of plastic pitchers, wearing red baseball caps with slogans that were tailored toward the fat men with fat pockets. They slurped up their lukewarm booze and relinquished their bodies to the primordial soup being served to those who evolved quickly enough to stomach it. And they weren't planning on leaving the facilities any time soon - not before a game of billiards and a shitty round of pinball with that little silver ball dinging to the beat of their own congestive heart failure.

"Well?" growled Toby. " Well? Now you understand what we're dealing with?" Henry frowned. He scratched at his grizzled gray beard, looking increasingly more uncomfortable in his tailored blue suit. "Okay," he confessed. "So maybe I didn't understand the exact scope of the incident..." "Scope...? Motherfucker, we're doomed! Our airline's never gonna recover from this!"