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So, finally, my years of work infiltrating ISIS and ingratiating myself with their Afghan cell had paid off. The United States was about to drop the "mother of all bombs" on the cave complex I, Ballbaghi al-Britani, had been living in for the past three months, constructing crude IEDs.
As the news began to filter through, was I screaming prayers in Arabic and cursing the Great Satan America? Was I running for my life away from the impending fiery Holocaust? Was I attempting to make one last call to my family to let them know I was about to meet my maker?
No, I calmly strolled outside and buried myself under the fine, warm desert sand. And I waited.
I wonder what the USAF pilot who remotely dropped the bomb thought the pale, hairy, quivering mass poking through the sand was as he remotely surveilled the area from within the walls of the Pentagon? A naked mole rat? Some sort of small beige cactus? Could he possibly have suspected it was my tender spuds, anxiously awaiting their complete and utter destruction?
As the 11,000lb mother of all bombs detonated, spreading my bollock matter across the Middle East and beyond, completely and totally annihilating my pathetic knackers for good with unimaginable, overwhelming force none of this was going through my head. I was filled simply with a sense of perfect bliss. My sack was well and truly fucking fucked. Utterly splattered and totally eviscerated.
