Late one evening, long after the sun had dipped below the horizon, a Marine rolled into a quiet little town that seemed to have gone to sleep hours earlier. The road dust still clung to his boots, and fatigue pressed down on him like a rucksack he’d been carrying for days. All he wanted was a bed—any bed—and a few uninterrupted hours of sleep.
Unfortunately, the town had other plans.
He stopped at the first hotel. Fully booked. The second one? Same answer. By the time he reached the last place in town, a small, slightly crooked building with a flickering vacancy sign that clearly hadn’t worked in years, he was running on fumes.
He stepped inside and leaned on the counter, his voice rough but polite.
“You’ve got to have something,” he said. “A room, a couch, a floor—I don’t care. I just need sleep.”
The manager, a tired-looking man who had clearly repeated the same speech all night, hesitated. Then he sighed.
“Well… there is one option,” he said slowly. “I’ve got a double room with one guest already in it. Navy guy.”
The Marine nodded. “That’s fine.”
The manager raised a finger. “But I should warn you—this sailor snores. Loud. So loud that people in the next rooms have complained before. I’m not sure it’s worth it.”
The Marine didn’t even blink. “No problem. I’ll take it.”
The manager handed over the key, clearly skeptical but too exhausted to argue.
The next morning, as sunlight poured into the lobby, the manager nearly dropped his coffee when he saw the Marine come downstairs. He looked refreshed. Cheerful. Practically glowing. The kind of man who had clearly slept like a baby.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” the manager said. “How did you sleep?”
“Never better,” the Marine replied, grabbing a plate and helping himself to breakfast.
The manager stared at him. “Seriously? No issues with the snoring?”
“Nope. Shut that down real quick.”
The manager leaned in. “How?”
The Marine shrugged casually.
“When I walked into the room, the guy was already asleep, sawing logs like a chainsaw. I walked over, leaned down, kissed him on the cheek, and said, ‘Goodnight, beautiful.’”
The Marine paused, taking a sip of coffee.
“After that,” he added, “he sat up all night watching me.”
The manager stood there in stunned silence, quietly reconsidering every hotel policy he’d ever enforced.
—
In a quiet convent not too far away—though perhaps in a completely different universe—a blonde nun knelt beside her bed late one evening, hands folded, whispering prayers with a devotion that could melt stone. She prayed for the sick, the poor, the lonely, and even the people who made her life slightly more difficult than necessary.
As she finished, the room filled with a soft, radiant glow.
God appeared before her.
“My daughter,” He said gently, “your heart is pure. Your prayers are selfless. You have pleased Me greatly. I have come to grant you one wish—anything you desire.”
The nun blinked, stunned, then bowed her head.
“Oh, Father, I am truly happy. I love my life. The Church provides all I need. I want for nothing.”
God smiled. “There must be something.”
She hesitated, then sighed. “Well… there is one thing.”
“Name it,” God said.
She frowned slightly.
“It’s the blonde jokes. They’re hurtful. Not just to me, but to blondes everywhere. They reduce us to a stereotype. Could you make them stop?”
God nodded solemnly. “Consider it done. Blonde jokes are hereby erased from the minds of humans everywhere.”
A moment passed.
“But surely,” God added, “there is something I could do just for you.”
The nun shifted awkwardly.
“Well… there is one small thing. But it’s hardly worth Your time.”
“Please,” God said warmly. “Tell Me.”
She sighed.
“It’s the M&M’s,” she admitted. “They’re so hard to peel.”
And for the first time in eternity, heaven went completely silent.
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