End in T minus 5 4 3 2

A mother and son are sitting silently on seperate couches in a lounge room, there are five minutes remaining till the end of the world.

Mother: Did you read that email from your uncle finally?

Son: No not yet

Mother: He would have really liked to have recieved a reply from you before the end

Son: Yeah I had other things on my mind Mom

Mother: It would have been nice for him to go knowing that you had thought of him

Son: I think for once it's alright to be selfish and just be thinking about ourselves

Mother: For once? Really? Just this one time?

Son: Stop it, you should be thinking of yourself as well

Mother: Oh don't be silly, i wont be missed

Son: No one will be missed!

Mother: im just saying it would have been nice...

Son: fine, ill send him a quick email

Mother: just a few words

Son: he probably wont even get it in time

Mother: its really the thought that counts

Son: theres only like a minute left, he'll only see it if hes online right now

Mother: its a nice gesture

Son: anything to just get you off my back

*getting and going the the desk and typing sounds*

Son: There. Its done. Am I a nice person now?

Mother: Did you say you loved him?

Son: No mother, he's an uncle.

Mother: What does that mean "he's an uncle"? He's family. I used to always tell my uncles and aunts I loved them

Son: That was a different time mom, an uncle loving time, all you had to do back then was drive in old cars and love uncles.

Mother: Tell him you love him, just put it at the end

Son: I already sent it! Im not going to send him another email that just says "I love you" that would weird.

Mother: No one will know

Son: I'll know, it might be the last thing that ever happens to me

Mother: He's your uncle

Son: Fine. *typing* Iiii Lllllooove yyyyouuuuu, send! There are you happy?


Then explosion sound

Trifle? Frypan?

An army sergeant comes into his superior's office.

Sergeant: Sir: Wish to report on the progress of the war.

General: Excellent, proceed Bodkin.

S: We are in a rather tenuous position, sir. We have had 1700 casualties so far today and no sign of a break in the enemy line.

G: Good god, man. That's terrible. What's going on? Is it those rolly chairs sergeant? I told them men to be careful on those.

S: No, sir. Only twelve fo the casualties have been due to rolly chairs. The majority are due to bullet related injuries.

G: Boxes of bullets falling on them again? I've made it clear they should be kept on the ground.

S: No sir, only 26 of the casualties are from boxes falling on the men. A further 38 are from men tripping over boxes left on the ground. The vast majority are actually arising from the men being shot by the bullets.

G: Someone letting bullets shoot guns now, eh? Bloody stupid thing to do.

S: No, sir. Your policy on that issue has been rigidly enforced with only a couple of lapses. What seems to be occuring is that the enemy, sir, who have their own bullets and guns are using the guns, sir, to shoot the bullets in our direction, striking the men and causing injury.

G: Hmmm. So much the same as yesterday, then.

S: Yes sir, and indeed every other day of the war.

G: Pathetically predictable, in a way, isn't it, Bodkin.

S: Yes sir. Pathetic.

G: Still, if that's the way they want to play it then I suppose we shall have to counter them. Have the men been taking any measures to avoid the bullets?

S: Avoid them sir?

G: Yes, you know, see a bullet coming, step to the left. Duck down a bit. Turn to the side.

S: I believe so, sir. The problem seems to be when they step to the left there is often another bullet coming towards that same point. So they get struck anyway, you see.

G: Hmmm, so it's almost a case of, out of the frying pan, into another, similar frying pan just next to said original frying pan.

S: I suppose so, sir.

G: Net improvement in frying pan situation, nil.

S: Yes sir.

G: What if they were to hold up the frying pan to protect themselves, instead of standing in it.

S: That might work, sir, but for the fact that this is a metaphorical frying pan. Created by you, only moments ago.

G: No protective value, is that what you're saying, Bodkin?

S: None, sir. Not against real bullets.

G: Aha. But if the bullets were metaphorical...

S: Even then, sir, the quality of metaphorical cast iron these days would mean the metaphorical frying pans offered little protection against metaphorical bullets, particularly armor piercing metaphorical bullets which are being used nowadays, sir.

G: Blast.

S: Indeed sir.

G: Perhaps a strategy is in order.

S: A strategy would, sir, at this stage me most popular with the men, sir.

G: Excellent, well, get some peaches and some cream and we'll see if we can't get one going.

S: Sir, I don't think what you are describing is a strategy.

G: No? What is it then?

S: A peach melba, sir. Or trifle.

G: That's it! A trifle. But then the men already have those, don't they.

S: They have rifles, sir. Not trifles.

G: No trifles?

S: No, sir.

G: Well, there's the problem! Get rid of those bloody rifles, get the men some trifles!

S: If you say, sir.

G: They can keep them in those frypans.

S: Yes, sir.