That time we didnt rob the bank

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It was a cold, gray morning in Cleveland, Ohio, the kind of day that made you want to stay in bed and curse the world. But not Mr. Jeff. No, today was the day he and his two goombahs, Tony "Two-Times" and Sal "The Sniffler," were going to rob the First National Bank of Cleveland. Or at least, that was the plan.

The three of them sat in a beat-up 1998 Honda Civic parked a block away from the bank. The car smelled like stale cigarettes, old coffee, and regret. Mr. Jeff, the self-proclaimed "mastermind," was in the driver’s seat, nervously tapping the steering wheel.

"Alright, you f***ing idiots," Jeff said, turning to his crew. "This is it. We go in, we get the cash, and we’re out in five minutes. No f***ing around, got it?"

Tony, a stocky guy with a face like a bulldog, nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. But, uh, can we stop at Dunkin’ after? I didn’t eat breakfast, and I’m starving."

Jeff glared at him. "Are you f***ing serious right now? We’re about to rob a goddamn bank, and you’re thinking about f***ing donuts?"

Tony shrugged. "What? I get cranky when I’m hungry."

Sal, sitting in the backseat, sniffled loudly. He always sniffled. Years of "recreational" cocaine use had turned his nose into a leaky faucet. "Can we just get this over with? I gotta pick up my kid from soccer practice at 4."

Jeff turned around, his face red. "Your kid? You’re worried about f***ing soccer practice? Jesus Christ, Sal, you’re a goddamn mess."

Sal sniffled again. "Hey, f*** you, Jeff. At least I’m trying to be a good dad. Unlike you, who’s been divorced three times and still lives with his mom."

Jeff’s jaw dropped. "Oh, you wanna go there, you f***ing cokehead? At least I’m not blowing all my money on nose candy and hookers!"

Tony chimed in, laughing. "Yeah, Sal, you’re a f***ing disaster. Remember that time you tried to snort powdered sugar, thinking it was coke?"

Sal shot him a dirty look. "Shut the f*** up, Tony. At least I don’t eat like a goddamn raccoon. You’re one donut away from a heart attack."

"Alright, enough!" Jeff shouted, slamming his hands on the steering wheel. "We’re doing this. Get your masks on and shut the f*** up."

The three of them stumbled out of the car, pulling ski masks over their faces. They walked into the bank, guns drawn, and started yelling.

"Everybody on the f***ing ground!" Jeff shouted. "This is a robbery!"

The customers and tellers screamed and hit the floor. Everything was going according to plan—until it wasn’t.

As Jeff started stuffing cash into a duffel bag, Tony leaned over to Sal and whispered, "Hey, you think I should call my wife? She’s been pissed at me ever since I forgot our anniversary last week."

Sal rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Tony, now’s not the time. But yeah, you probably should. Women don’t forget that s***."

Jeff overheard them and groaned. "Are you two f***ing kidding me? We’re in the middle of a robbery, and you’re talking about your f***ing wives?"

Tony shrugged. "What? You don’t know what it’s like, Jeff. She’s been giving me the silent treatment for days. It’s driving me nuts."

Sal sniffled. "At least your wife still talks to you. Mine left me for her yoga instructor. Now I gotta pay alimony and child support. I’m f***ing broke, man."

Jeff threw his hands in the air. "Oh, for f***’s sake! Can we focus on the goddamn robbery, please?"

But it was too late. The three of them were so busy arguing about their personal problems that they didn’t notice the silent alarm had been triggered. Within minutes, the bank was surrounded by cops.

"Sh**!" Jeff yelled. "The cops are here! What the f*** do we do now?"

Tony looked at him, panicked. "I don’t know, you’re the mastermind!"

Sal sniffled. "We’re f***ed, man. Totally f***ed."

The cops stormed in, guns drawn, and ordered them to drop their weapons. Jeff, Tony, and Sal froze, their hands in the air.

As they were being cuffed and dragged out of the bank, Jeff muttered, "You two are the worst f***ing goombahs I’ve ever worked with."

Tony grinned. "Hey, at least we tried, right?"

Sal sniffled. "Yeah, and now I’m gonna miss my kid’s soccer game. Thanks a lot, Jeff."

---

Jeff woke up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding. He looked around and realized he was in his mom’s basement, lying on a lumpy couch. It was all a dream.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, rubbing his face. "I gotta stop eating Taco Bell before bed."

From upstairs, his mom yelled, "Jeffrey! Your Hot Pockets are ready!"

Jeff sighed. "F*** my life."