Cinco Minutos! (I don't know how to do the upside down exclamation point)

(It's like five minutes, but spicy!)

The last green until Easter courses through my bloodstream, so I'm being fancy with the word sprint. And by fancy, I mean multi-lingual.

Vaminos!

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With the gun placed to his head, Toby realized he had no choice but to write.

You know that thing you do when you have writer's block? That whole "What would I write if I had a gun to my head?" Welp, now he knows. Thanks to the worst birthday gift of ever consisting of Sharon hiring a real-life hitman to break into the house, put a loaded .380 to Toby's head, and tell him to start writing, the words flowed from Toby's fingers like they never had before.

They were glorious words, words with meaning, words with passion. They were the best words to ever be written. By Toby, anyway. He was delirious with joy and wonder. "Sonuvabitch," he thought, "it actually worked!"

Toby continued to write as though his life depended upon it, which it quite literally did. An untapped reservoir of ideas and concepts continued to fly upon the page, unbidden. He looked at what he was writing, realizing he had the bare bones foundation of a brilliant story. It would be the Great American Novel. It would be everything Toby ever dreamed he would write.

But Sharon, being a total bitch, couldn't let him have that. After an hour, the gunman made Toby delete everything he had written and then stole the laptop. Fucking Sharon.

Five Minutes to a Healthier YOU!

(OK, maybe not so much healthier...)

I got five minutes to kill, so let's sprint it up.

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Some forgettable grunge-lite pop song was playing in Eddie's head as he cautiously looked around the corner. Robbing the bank had been the easy part. The hard part was getting that goddamned Filter song out of his mind. That, and the masked idiot chasing him.

Everything Eddie'd read and seen about Spider-Man led him to believe he was fake. No one could be that stupid, but that powerful, while leaping around and shooting webs. Eddie was finding out the hard way he was wrong.

He had been wrong about a great many things over the course of his lifetime, but this mistake was going to put him away for a very long time. His uncle had gotten him out of some tight jams in the past, being a Yale-graduated lawyer, but now Eddie was looking at real time.

The judges always added extra time whenever you were brought in by one of the capes. Eddie didn't know if it was out of spite or if they thought since a super hero had to come in, that made the alleged crime more heinous. All he knew was, he needed to get the hell out of Dodge with a quickness.