(Background Info: Ernie is in the middle of his morning drive to work, which takes 20 minutes or so.)
Internal Monologue #1: Something feels wrong. Something feels very, very wrong.
Internal Monologue #2: That’s because you’re fiending for a cigarette. You have that stupid nicotene patch on your arm, get over yourself.
IM #1: But I don’t think that’s it…
IM #2: Of course it is. The second you’ve stepped in the car you’ve always lit up a cigarette. Always. You don’t light up one stupid cigarette and you turn into a whiny little bitch. Suck it up, don’t think of anything else and drive to work, you little bitch.
IM #1: But…
IM #2: Don’t think. Drive.
At the employee parking lot, Ernie pops the trunk and…
Ernie: Where the hell is my laptop?
IM #1: You left it at home, dumbass. Now you have to drive for an extra 40 minutes to get it.
IM #2: Uhhh… my bad.
Ernie: Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckity fuckfuckfuck.
The moral of this story is: smoking solves all your problems. (I kid, I kid! For now, anyway.)