You just figured out that you’ve smoked so many cigarettes over the years that you now have enough Marlboro Miles to redeem for your own planet.
“Yes, it’s called Planet Marlboro,” an operator says.
You ask her where it is. And what the atmosphere is like.
“It’s in space. I don’t know. Somewhere way the hell out there.”
The operator puts you on hold to find out about the atmosphere. When she comes back she says, “It’s like Pluto.”
“Pluto?” you say.
She puts you on hold again.
“I was wrong. It is Pluto. Or, was.”
When Pluto got kicked out of the solar system it was up for grabs, she explains. So Marlboro bought it and threw it in as a premium reward in the little Marlboro Miles catalog.
“You want it or not?” the operator asks. “Hello? All I hear is a loud beep.”
You drop your phone and the nurses kick it into the closet as they race into your hospital room to try and revive you. In your mind, you’re begging the nurses to tell the operator yes, you want Planet Marlboro. You want to go with your family knowing smoking took your life, but it gave you a celestial body to ascend to. But you fade, and you end.
Happy Planet Marlboro Day!
