44 Cents

The following short short story is based on a real life incident earlier in the week.

***

Debriefings, I detest them. After 10,000 mile round trip I much rather go home, take a hot shower, collapse on my warm inviting bed, and cozy up to a sultry redheaded buxom superheroine. However, if you add a couple of donuts into the mix, I might be persuaded put up with them. The US Navy did just that after my F/A-37 squadron arrived back to Gotham NAS (For those of you reading in Port St. Lucie, Florida that means the donuts were on your dime.) It was their way of congratulating us after our successful bombing run on Tripoli.

26 MiG-23 Floggers, six II-76 transports, and four MiG-25 Foxbats were destroyed along with one MI-23 Hind Helicopter. Khadaffi’s air force was critically wounded. The Navy declared it a rousing success. Me? I just wanted to go home, collapse on my nice warm bed and snuggle with a curvaceous fiery Hellcat.

My wish was mercifully granted; Commander Boone dismissed us. I stood up, nodded, and grabbed one donut for the road in one not-so-fluid motion. He shook his head as I headed out for the homestead. I was chewing the last bit of that sinfully delicious silky smooth morsel when a long black stretch limousine pulled up alongside of me. I could see the Stark Industries logo painted on the limo’s armored side. I knew instantly that it was my favorite person in the whole wide world, Mr. Tony Stark. (That was sarcasm for those of you reading in Port St. Lucie, Florida.)

The dark tinted window rolled down revealing a beaming Tony Stark, “Congratulations Commander!”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” I replied nodding my tired head.

“Stark Industries stock should be skyrocketing after that successful display of American Firepower!” he proudly proclaimed as his eyes quickly transformed into dazzling green dollar signs.

“All in days work,” I calmly replied, betraying the fact that I desperately wanted nothing more to go home and wrap my arms around Hellcat’s soft sexy frame.

“I’m so glad I caught you, Commander,” the man behind Iron Man stated as he reached inside his silk jacket. He pulled out a white envelope as he continued, “This saves me a trip to the post office.” I watched in pure unadulterated shock as he pulled the Liberty Bell stamp off the envelope. I stood there speechless as he handed it to me with the stamp in his other hand. “Thanks for the donuts for the Gotham Military Ball, Madame Mirage sends her best!”

Tony stopped and put the stamp onto a piece of plastic. “Perfect! Thanks Commander!” The window rolled back up as the dark limo pulled away. I stood there speechless, dumbfounded as I watched the limo drive away. The man is worth more than $44 Billion (Capital B for those of you reading in Port St. Lucie, Florida) dollars and he’s quivering over a pity ante measly 44 cent stamp.

I glanced down at the envelope in total bewilderment. I looked back up as the limo drove out of sight; either the economy was still in the crapper or Patsy Hellstrom was right, Tony Stark is that cheap.