Congratulations on Getting Your Just Deserts!

After you got off Scott free with betraying your bank robbing friends to the cops in exchange for a Costco membership and twenty minutes with a young, moderately attractive staff writer for the New York Times you felt like you were cock of the god damn walk. You’ve been strutting around like you own the shit the rest of us eat and it’s only your gift that keeps us from starving in the street and the whole world is howling in rage that you’ve gotten away with it all. That’s why we’ll all cheer when we hear what transpired today on the evening news.

It will begin this morning when the moderately attractive staff writer for the New York Times gets up to leave your apartment.

“Already?” you’ll mumble at her, your pillow stuck to the side of your face.

“Yeah,” she’ll say as she hops from foot to foot in your doorway, “This has been really awkward.” She’ll slip out and close the door without a sound as she leaves, abandoning you to lay and sigh in your bed alone.

Don’t fret, though. Less than a minute after she’s slipped out two cops will stumble in, reeking of their morning whiskey-lattes. They’ll enter with guns drawn and advance on you, the fatter one producing his handcuffs from some previously unseen place.

“We’ve got some questions for you, son,” they’ll say, smiling broken toothed grins as they pull you out of your sheets to reveal that you do indeed, thank christ, sleep with pajamas on.

“I thought this was settled,” you’ll say, not struggling at all as they cuff you and lead you out of your apartment.

“Almost,” the skinnier one will mumble into your ear as he pushes your head into the car and slams the door, offering you the closure your young writer refused you.

Inside the car the city will race by. The police will never use their siren, but their knowledge of the flow of traffic, the life of the city and the thousand little side streets no one ever uses will all make a journey of hours into one of minutes. They’ll be so adept at folding the city around their vehicle that you’ll only have the barest inkling that you’re not heading to the station during the trip. But when they begin to slow down near a dockyard you’ll realize something is wrong. This realization will bloom into belief when they forcibly remove you from their vehicle and start walking you towards a cargo container with Yuri, the middle aged Russian man who organized the failed heist, standing outside it.

When you’re just outside the cargo container Yuri will smile and clap his hands. The front of the container will open a crack and the cops will force you through the opening, banging your elbow on the steel door in the process. They won’t follow you in, their work taken over by grasping hands from within the container. You won’t be able to make out who the hands belong to, but they’ll guide you to a small wooden chair with only the light from the crack in the door to work by. They’ll bind you quickly and handily, leading you to the conclusion that at least one of your captors is either an old Boy Scout or a professional/semi-professional BDSM Dominant. You’ll start to guess at just who would have such a skillset who you’d have wronged recently, but the list will be too long to process before a tiny, bright orange bulb lights up in the middle of the room and reveals your captors.

Standing there before you in a semicircle will be all your heist friends who you recently betrayed. Jimmy, the loner with a heart of gold, will step forward and slap you in the face.

“It’s just been revoked,” he’ll say before returning to his compatriots.

Then Marianne, the super hot single mom who fucked every other person on the heist, including you, because that’s just how she rolls, will step up and slap you her hardest, knocking a filling loose.

“Turns out cops are easy to bribe,” she’ll say, smacking her ass as she walks back to the group.

Your friends will each slap you and issue a brief catch phrase in turn until everyone’s gone at least once. Jimmy will pitch two or three, but he’ll be more upset than most of the others so it’ll be understandable. Then when they’re all done they’ll sit down on the floor of the container and discuss the way your betrayal made them feel in a candid and open way. After that, but before you have a chance to address their feelings, they’ll wet down every surface in the container with gasoline and then leave before lighting the whole thing up with you inside. Your last moments will consist of you thinking that you should’ve been a better friend before the agony takes your capacity for rational thought and you die screaming.

Congratulations on Getting Your Just Deserts!