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While you were asleep: Fidget spinners invade space, Donald Trump does something, Grand theft fajita

While you were unconscious things went very bad indeed. The Fidget Spinner crossed the final frontier, Donald Trump did something, and one Texan stole $1.2 million dollars worth of Fajita.

 

 

Fidget Spinners in spaceeeee.

As the tired phrase goes, no-one in space can hear you scream. Which is unfortunate, as the Fidget Spinners invasion of the astral apartment blocks circling high above came without warning.

 

Now, we’re unsure how the master race of kinetic time wasters broke the stratosphere or opened the airlocks, but it’s safe to assume that they’re now in charge.

I for one welcome our new overlords. To be fair, the warning signs walked across the palms of many. Those who tortured those devices for their own amusement. Fidget Spinners, of course, only spin as a stress mechanism, in order to ward off larger prey. The fact that they’ve now decided to fight back was clearly a reaction to our acts. They came in peace, we pressed them into a lifetime of duress.

It’s their space now, the only thing left to do is cue the music.

 

 

 

Donald Trump does something galling, writer reaches for revolver of denial.

Frankly, I’ve grown tired of nitpicking Donald Trump’s stupidity. It’s got to the point where I (almost) feel sorry for him. Dementia is around the corner, and he’s lucid enough for us to hold him accountable, and not feel too badly about it. Donald, you’ve shit the bed again. What we’re lacking, is pity. And I’m no different. My fingers rail complaint when my brain commands it to articulate Trump’s latest bungle.

So, from here on out, I’m going to phone it in. And every time the Donald does something silly, I’m deciding not to cover it, and instead, I’ll read the plot synopsis of an unrelated movie until the screaming stops.

The Santa Clause – 1994 

Divorcee Scott Calvin is disgusted to learn that his ex and her husband have tried – and failed – to break it easy to their 6-year-old son Charlie that Santa isn’t real. Stop wondering what Trump did. On Christmas Eve, Scott reads The Night Before Christmas… then receives an unexpected visitor on his roof. When he’s startled by Scott’s calling out and falls, the Santa impersonator disappears, leaving only an 8-reindeer sleigh and a suit with instructions to put it on if he’s involved in an accident. Don’t bother Googling, it’s not worth it. Scott does, and is transported around the town dropping gifts through chimneys until he’s taken to the North Pole and informed by a group who claim they’re elves that he is now Santa. You googled it, didn’t you?

So, what did he do? Guys?

 

 

Man steals $1.2 million…worth of Fajitas. Street value unknown.

There’s (probably) an aphorism in crime circles that reminds criminals to pick a crime worth being hung over. So, when you’re caught, and last meals are had, and last rights are ingested, the man might claim you, but never your spirit, as you’ll forever be the person who stole Greenland with a system of milk crates and trained albatrosses. Vale.

However, it seems that the ornate modern workplace of criminality uses an archaic, outdated messaging system, as one Texan didn’t get the memo, deciding to divert $1.2 million of fajitas over a nine-year period. Which, and let’s ignore the obviously dim fact that he worked in a prison, and he’ll soon be able to fulfil the dream we all possess, and live at work; but let us focus on the mind-boggling logistics statistics. Now, Fajitas, unlike a proper score (read: gold bullion, a brick of blow or a Faberge egg) have little monetary value.

Over a nine year period, that rough equates to $365.29 a day. Which, considering that would be bulk price over retail, and I need to sit down suddenly. I wanted to write a true literary classic. Not report Fajita theft. Apparently, the masterfoodmind used his score to feed his customers. Which says it all. If you still have to work a second job to make your restaurant chain work with a near-unlimited cost-free inventory, restauranting isn’t for you.

Enjoy prison food, twerp.

Which, ironically, might not include Fajitas.

 

 

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