The Ballad of Barty Bumble: A Tuna Melt's Treachery
Barty Bumble had a theory: the universe had a personal vendetta against him. Not a grand, theatrical vendetta, mind you. More like a cosmic prankster who kept flicking his ear just as he was about to sneeze. This particular Tuesday, Barty yearned for a simple tuna melt. A simple, golden, cheesy tuna melt. What could go wrong?
He opened the fridge. The light flickered once, twice, then a soft 'pop' plunged the kitchen into an impressive darkness. "Ah, a power outage," Barty muttered, already reaching for his emergency camping lantern. Naturally, its batteries, which he'd *just* replaced, were now as dead as his hopes for a hot lunch. Stumbling, he kicked something. A rogue roller skate? A particularly dense dust bunny? No, it was his own foot, expertly aimed to connect with the sharp corner of the kitchen table. "Excellent," he hissed, hopping on one foot. "A splinter and a bruise. Multi-tasking, universe. I'm impressed."
Deciding discretion was the better part of valor (and hunger), Barty opted for a takeout. He fumbled for his car keys. In his pocket, he found a single, solitary penny and a note from his landlord about overdue rent. The keys, however, were on the roof of his car, where he'd absentmindedly placed them *yesterday*. He trudged outside. As he reached for the keys, a pigeon, seemingly having a mid-air heart attack, plummeted from the sky directly onto his head, leaving an unholy mess and a rather significant concussion. Barty crumpled, the keys clattering to the ground beside him.
He awoke in the hospital. "Good news," chirped a nurse, "You'll be fine. Just a few stitches and a mild concussion." Barty offered a weak smile. "Bad news," she continued, checking her clipboard, "Due to a clerical error, we accidentally discharged your appendix." Barty stared. "But... I still have my appendix." The nurse blinked. "Oh dear. Well, we've removed *an* appendix. Perhaps it was a spare?" Barty sighed. He just wanted a tuna melt. His bed then inexplicably folded itself into a futon, trapping him face-first in the pillows, just as the hospital cafeteria announced their daily special: tuna melts.