Well, it is that time of year again. Time for the US and South Korea to do one of a few joint exercises. The little guy up north doesn’t like it much, so he lobbed some missiles. Really, he reminds of the French dudes in the castle in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
“I fart in your general direction.”
They (the missiles— not the French) fell harmlessly into a sea of disputed naming rights. Depends on who you ask, really. South Korea calls it the East Sea while Japan calls it the Sea of Japan and North Korea calls it the East Sea of Korea— because reasons. Either way, Japan isn’t happy about it and neither are we, but for different reasons.
The powers that be decided it was time for us to be at a heightened state of alert. This means no drinking and no civilian clothes. Being a general non-conformist, I rebelled and sat around my room with no clothing at all. BOOM! Because words have meaning and meaning is important. Which brings me to my next point. Sort of. So, my uniforms were all in the wash. As per standard operating procedure, I get hungry while lounging about in the buff. I had a few choices before me:
1) Starve to death and have my emaciated nude corps be found at a later date, which would be hilarious if I were around to see the discovery. Dangerous game that. Best not try it.
2) Don civilian attire to go to the commissary and risk the wrath of countless dozens. Also normally fun, but not so much on an empty stomach.
3) Or subsist on the only food(?) left in my room: an eight-month-old package of frozen pizza rolls. BINGO! We have a winner.
Just a tiny problem though. Have you ever read the microwave instructions for pizza rolls? I may be non-conformist, but I am a bit of a stickler for adherence to the instructions found on packages of food-like substances. It’s why they’ve been there for eight months. It says to place six frozen pizza rolls on a plate in a wide circle and nuke for 60 seconds. Who eats just six pizza rolls? My three-year-old grandson requires more than six. Where are the instructions for a half package? I had to give in though and just wing it. I covered a plate in the little nuggets of questionable nutrition and made some quick calculations. If six require a minute and still come out half frozen, then surely a dozen and a half require a couple of additional minutes. As it turns out, the ones in the center did not need more time, while the ones on the fringe needed more. So, I gave them more.
Has anyone cracked the code on which end of a pizza roll is the one designed to give way first? At internal temperatures roughly equal to that of molten lava, it is hardly advisable to pop the whole thing in your mouth.
So, I nibble and learn a new game I like to call “nude pizza roll roulette”. I like to live dangerously. While learning the game, I discovered that there are six different directions molten cheeses can travel once a pizza roll is chomped on. Not a single direction produces a pleasant result— especially when one lacks the protection of habiliments. Not wanting to explain this at the clinic and getting zero relevant Google search results, I have to invent a way to properly bandage giggle berries…