Barry's Karmic Catastrophe

Barry had always considered himself a connoisseur of misfortune. His life was less a narrative and more a lengthy, poorly-received slapstick routine orchestrated by a malevolent deity with a penchant for tripwires. He once choked on a communion wafer; it felt sacrilegious even to *him*.

One Tuesday, Barry decided to defy the cosmic prankster. He would perform a random act of kindness. He spotted an old lady wrestling with a flat tire, her face a roadmap of vexation. 'Aha!' Barry thought, a rare spark of virtuous intent flickering. 'Good karma, inbound!'

He approached, offering a gallant, if slightly nervous, smile. 'Allow me, ma'am!' he declared, seizing the wrench. The lug nut, however, was stubbornly affixed. Barry pulled harder, grunting with effort. With a sudden, violent pop, the wrench slipped. Barry tumbled backward, through a conveniently placed portaloo, which then, with an even more convenient and entirely unreasonable physics-defying lurch, rolled down the street and straight into the local bank.

The ensuing chaos involved a misunderstanding about a bank robbery, a very confused police dog, and Barry emerging from the portaloo, covered in… well, let’s just say it wasn’t mud. 'At least,' he mumbled, as the handcuffs clicked shut, 'I got to help someone *avoid* paying their parking ticket.' The old lady, meanwhile, had found a spare tire in her trunk. And a spare car.