DENVER, Colo. — In holding with the rest of your dogshit life, the tractor and trailer carrying your household goods unceremoniously and unsurprisingly careened off a cliff and exploded in a spectacular fireball yesterday outside Denver, sources confirmed.
Now, like your recently terminated marriage, your keepsakes are a mangled, shapeless heap of twisted metal and broken dreams.
Other than the acrid smoke now clogging the motorway, witnesses report it was a picture-perfect day in the Rocky Mountains, as meteorologists also confirmed it was sunny, 75 degrees, with no clouds in the sky. There was a sublime peacefulness in the Arapaho National Forest, but all of that was ruined by the thunderclap of 80,000 pounds of fiery banality hitting the valley floor at near-terminal velocity.
Along with your hopes of a fresh start at a new duty station, sources confirm that everything you own is burned beyond recognition. Your Millennium Falcon beanbag chair, 72" LCD TV, single place setting, and even your kitchen table — the one you caught your road-whore of an ex-wife defiling with your O-4 aviator neighbor — were all charred to a crisp at the bottom of a craggy ravine.
In order to get reimbursed for your loss, sources said you will need to enter your entire bill of lading manually into the Defense Personal Property System (DPS). DPS personnel would normally do that, but all of their representatives are currently tied-up cataloging Chuck Hagel's 2.4 million pairs of designer socks for his upcoming move.
You will also need to enter the value of every item so a self-righteous GS-13 who despises you can argue the depreciable value of a jizz-stained futon and tattered “Don’t Tread On Me” flag.
Only adding to your disdain for living, you will be extremely enraged to know the mullet-ed, gelatinous humanoid driving the truck, Dale Pouncey, survived the accident. He credits his daily recreational drug use and horribly atrophied muscles with allowing him to remain perfectly relaxed during the crash. Pouncey plans to reflect on this miracle while collecting 100 percent disability for a sprained penis he suffered while escaping the inferno and definitely not from masturbating while trying to catch a glimpse of a woman’s vagina in his side-view mirror before crashing through the freeway guardrail at 90 mph.
Currently on your block leave from your most recent deployment to Afghanistan, you will not find out until after a week at your new duty station because the movers misspelled your name on all accompanying paperwork and boxes.
UPDATE: At press time, two boxes had been recovered from the wreckage: One contained your rancid trash from your point of origin and the other contained your ex’s broken Pottery Barn lamp that had been packed with your finishing hammer.