Bombs were the last thing on his mind. The first thing on his mind was an egg salad sandwich. Then bombs. He had exactly two things on his mind.
He was a very simple fellow, a bomb enthusiast who ate nothing but egg salad sandwiches. He didn't even have a proper name. Just He. Sometimes He answered to His or Him, depending on the tense.
There was a bomb in the bedroom and, being a bomb enthusiast, he was enthused by this. The only way to defuse the bomb was to eat the fuse. The fuse was not an egg salad sandwich, no matter how squinty He made his eyeballs. This was a problem.
How would get himself out of this predicament? The clock was ticking down, two minutes and twenty-six seconds, then what? What would happen at the end of the timer? Would everything just stop? Or would it stop suddenly? Was there any real difference between those two statements?
He felt He was just filling time until the bomb's timer ran out. But how? How? How to fill time? He could think of nothing to say or think. The timer was now at forty-two seconds.
Could he just ride out the bomb's timer? Isn't this an interesting story, He thought. Ten seconds, huh? What about
A writer, reader, swashbuckler, former counter-spy, soda jerk, space cowboy, and honorary Professor of Not-Quite-Mad-But-Pretty-Unusual Sciences at the University of Genial Monsters (Go Smilin' Sasquatch!), Mark J. Hansen has secretly saved the universe numerous times, with more close calls than he cares to admit. He enjoys fast trips through time and space, arm-wrestling rainbows, eccentric headwear and kittens with British accents. When he is not sharing his Stories of the Amazing and the Amazingly Well-Written, he mostly hangs out in his hot-air balloon overlooking Skull Island with a root beer float and a parrot on each shoulder, practicing hypnotism and innovative shoe-tying techniques.