michael scofield be like: i will use this single stale cheetoh to feed the dog that roams outside the east wall of the prison at precisely 4:36 pm on the third wednesday before the 5th full moon of a year a corpse flower blooms after which the dog will take a shit which will be stepped on by the prison guardβs cousinβs financial advisor, causing him to be late for work, which makes him throw his recycling in the garbage by mistake, which will then be transported on a garbage truck traveling at 22 miles per hour driven by a man whose father just landed in yemen yesterday and dropped a napkin on the floor which was carried on the wind through our window and landed in my lap exactly 1.7 seconds ago which i am now folding into a lockpick so we can escape
