Here's an oldie, one that was unusually un-detailed and simple.
I'm some low-ranking tech guy working for the military. It's the height of the cold war and I'm holed up in some great-deep underground bunker, alone in a small room filled with computer equipment, radar, switches and blinking lights. In front of me is a great big red button that triggers the U.S.'s anti-missile defense system.
I'm sipping coffee out of a simple white mug and generally feeling uncomfortable and bored in my overly starched uniform.
Then, to revel in a cliché, all hell breaks loose. Lights flash, the radar blips, and klaxons sound. Some grizzled sergeant runs in and starts yelling at me, some privates yell in the hallway panicked. I hit the red button.
The blips pop a couple of seconds more and stop. The alarms go off, lights stop flashing. The sergeant laughs, relieved, pats me on the shoulder, and gives me a shot of whiskey that he pulls out of the air. He winks and then goes into the hallway.
I'm bored again. I wish, vaguely, that I had some pin-ups pinned up.
Alarms again, lights, angry officer and frightened peons. Again I hit the button. Relief, back patting, whiskey, whispers of a promotion.
This cycles through many times, to the point I start angrily hitting the button for no reason and wondering what the hell my sergeant did that gave him short term memory loss. Probably whiskey.
Something dawns on me as the klaxons sound again. I don't push the button. Sergeant Alchie freaks. Pulls out a service revolver, threatens to blow me away for insubordination. I point to the button and tell him he can push it his own damn self.
As expected, the U.S. is not destroyed in a nuclear holocaust. I do, however, wake up and see that I have, indeed, been pushing my snooze alarm for an hour and a half and am now late for school.
It's funny because it's true.
Also, there is lots of snow now and I'm being a stupid whiny boy.