I don’t know where it all went wrong, where it all fell to pieces, but everything is completely fucked. We had the plan, a masterpiece of preparation, a cunning framework outlining our entire plot from start to finish. We had the contingencies covered, backups for our backups. We had the manpower. We had it all. What happened? We should have been in and out by now. We should have pierced the security, broken the shell code, and penetrated the vault. We should be halfway home. But we’re not. We didn’t see this coming. We can’t crack the goddamned coconut.
A week ago, it all seemed so simple. I received the intel the usual way, a stack of discarded junk mail, a folded flyer peeking out from a grocery store insert. Produce sale. At first glance, nothing unusual. I almost tossed it. But then, down in the corner, something caught my eye. There she was, in glorious airbrushed high-definition. A coconut. Only $1.99 apiece. Jackpot.
I called in my crew. They came from all over when I explained what I’d found. I pitched them the plan one by one, mano a mano. Well, not really con mi mano. I don’t translate well. Regardless, you could feel the excitement in the air, a palpable energy, a rising force of conspired hope. They all knew what we had on our hands and manos. The motherload. The mothermano. An unfathomably cheap way to mine liquid diamonds. Yup, I’d found the smuggler’s Holy Grail. One last big score. An attack on Big Coconut Water.
At the time, cans of coconut water were running $2.78. That’s a lot of heft for a little liquid refreshment. A lot of change. A lot of profit margin. In a racket like that, you can easily walk away with enough jangle to buy your own jungle. And that’s what I told my men. We’d be living large in Amazonian mansions just as soon as we blasted open that palm tree nut-safe, repackaged the interior water, and set up a marketing and distribution plan. Like I said, so simple. But that coconut’s security was just, well… damn.
So here we are. Stuck. Desperate with our dying plan. We’ve tried everything – drills, hammers, rocks, an Olympic javelin throw – all without results. The coconut won’t give. We’re never getting whatever it holds. Not in time, anyway. Yeah, that’s right. Time. Because guess what just showed up in the mail? Next week’s insert. On special? Coconut water. The bastards were on to us the whole time. Damn coupon clippers are going to have a field day on our collective ass.
We were supposed to save seventy-nine cents. Now we’ve got nothing to show for it. One last big score drowned in the unreachable depths of a coconut’s water.
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