Day twenty-one. Bernie, the gum-chewing web developer, is still chewing the same piece of gum. But today, fate has spoken—he must part with half of it.
The coffee shop gang watches in reverent silence as Bernie, jaw aching but spirit unbroken, peels a portion of the gum from his teeth. He stares at it in his palm, the once-mighty chewable now a fragile, overworked remnant of its former glory.
“It’s like a bread mother,” Bernie whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “A sourdough starter. It will live on.”
Lauren wipes away an imaginary tear. “You’re an inspiration to us all. Truly, Bernie, I never thought I’d say this, but your absurd commitment to that gum has made me believe in something greater than myself. Also, I’d kill for an oat milk latte right now.”
Aly, still suspiciously cheerful, claps her hands together. “Think of it as a fresh start! New gum, new opportunities! You’ve given the old gum a purpose, and isn’t that just beautiful? Kind of like the circle of life?”
Leslie snorts, crossing her arms. “Or we can finally move on from this absurdity. Honestly, I was hoping the gum would just self-destruct in your mouth by now. But sure, let’s memorialize it.”
Patty, the ship’s master chef, carefully takes the sacrificed gum and drops it into her bubbling concoction. The air is thick with tension—and possibly the scent of desperation—as the glue simmers to perfection.
Captain Sal nods approvingly. “Good work, Patty. Maintenance, take the glue and patch the leak.”
The crew, moving with the urgency of people who’d rather not drown, grabs the pot and rushes to the deck. The coffee shop erupts into cheers—relief washes over the group. Finally, an end to their troubles!
But just as hope reaches its peak, disaster strikes. A misplaced step, a rogue gust of wind—no one knows exactly how it happens, but in one horrifying instant, the pot of glue plummets overboard.
Silence. Then chaos.
Lauren lets out a strangled scream. “MY GODDUH! How is this even our reality? We’re trapped on a slowly sinking ship, and now we’re glue-less? We’re doomed. Someone get me a drink.”
Rosie barks in horror. “This is why we can’t have nice things! You people are hopeless.”
Leslie bursts into laughter, doubling over. “Oh, this is just too good. You mean to tell me the sacred gum glue is now feeding fish? This is the best day of my life.”
Bernie, his half-gum still in his mouth, closes his eyes. “We are so doomed. Maybe if I chew fast enough, I can turn the rest of this into a new batch of glue. I just need another… ten hours.”
Captain Sal sighs, rubbing his temples. “Well. Any other bright ideas? Preferably ones that don’t involve airborne adhesives?”
The coffee shop gang stares at each other, the slow leak still leaking, the ship still very much sinking, and Bernie’s gum now only half of what it once was.
Stay tuned.
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