This is How to Make an Impression

I was louder than I intended

Viktor from Picjumbo

San Francisco is so quiet at night, except for the foghorns, that I completely misread what I thought would be an innocent act of robust flatulence.

Call it a my-own-room-act-of-rebellion-and-outmoded-gender-identification.

It woke the entire building, made my housemates grab their go-bags, and insert their bitcoin suppositories.

I have no idea how they roll in case the you-know-what hits the fan.

My post-apocalyptic currency needs are handled by my personal bankers, Messrs Smith and Wesson.

Although I do keep some offshore accounts at the PPK branch of Walther.

Somehow, I caused the Nike anti-missile sites in the Presidio to reanimate from the past and prepare for launch.