“Jenkins!”

“Sir.”

“What the hell is happening out there?”

“It’s raining men, sir.”

“Metaphorically?”

“No, sir. Literally. Human males are literally plummeting from the sky.”

“In a sexy way?”

“Oh, God, no. It’s like Dresden out there.”

“Well, what happened? When did it start?”

“Around half past ten.”

“Did we have any warning?”

“The humidity was rising.”

“Rising, sure.”

“And the barometer was getting low.”

“So low.”

“But neither of those metrics imply a sudden barrage of sky-fellows.”

“This hasn’t happened before?”

“No, sir. It’s the first time in history.”

“What kind of men is it raining, Jenkins?”

“Tall and blonde.”

“Mm.”

“Dark and lean.”

“Lean is better than fat here, Jenkins. Less of a plop.”

“And rough men, tough men, and short and mean men.”

“What I’m hearing is ‘men in general.'”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s good! Diversity!”

“It’s not, sir. I don’t think we’ll be able to count the dead.”

“Jenkins, why are we always in situations where the dead are uncountable?”

“Can’t help it if we’re lucky, sir.”

“Who is responsible for this?”

“The raining men?”

“Yes.”

“Mother Nature, I would suppose.”

“Ha! Problem solved, then. We just assassinate Mother Nature. Easy peasy.”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Oh, yes.”

“How, sir?”

“I don’t know. Concrete shoes? Cyanide? High voltage? It’s going to be a truly foul act, Jenkins.”

“A dirty deed?”

“Something like that. And we need to find someone who doesn’t charge a lot.”

“Dirt cheap?”

“If you say so.”

“I’ll make a call, sir.”