The Unbearable Lightness of Being Unlucky
Barty Butterfield wasn't just unlucky; he was a walking, breathing, misfortune magnet. Umbrellas inverted on sunny days, lottery tickets won *last* week's numbers, and therapists developed acute existential dread just from listening to his woes. One particularly pigeon-splattered Tuesday, Barty decided to outsmart fate. He would prepare for every possible disaster.
He donned a bicycle helmet (for meteor showers), wrapped himself in a fire-retardant blanket (for spontaneous combustion), and settled down to eat plain toast (the only food he deemed incapable of rebellion). The toast, naturally, was moldy. He tossed it out the window, aiming for a bin. It missed, ricocheted off a satellite dish, and landed precisely in the open mouth of the neighborhood's most litigious Chihuahua.
The ensuing legal battle was costly, but that wasn't the worst of it. During the deposition, a rare, highly venomous spider (which had apparently hitched a ride on Barty's fire-retardant blanket) bit the judge, causing him to declare Barty guilty of "Crimes Against Canine Dignity" and sentence him to a week of community service… at a black cat sanctuary on Friday the 13th.
On his way there, Barty’s bus spontaneously combusted (due to a rare flaw in its fire-retardant seats), showering him with ash. He hailed a taxi, which immediately ran over a mirror and then a ladder, only to be struck by lightning (a freak bolt from an otherwise clear sky). As Barty walked the rest of the way, utterly resigned, a single, solitary horseshoe fell from a passing delivery truck, landing perfectly on his head. It was then he realized the horseshoe was a mislabeled, live hand grenade. The ensuing *poof* finally ended Barty's reign as the unluckiest man alive. He was, at last, truly free.