With his helmet, boots, & girdle strapped on, Wooden Ant crept into the queue o’ Titanium Ants storming into their hole.

Let’s see how those terrorists love a li’l vengeance…

“Hey, everyone: ¡look @ this party pirate!”

Wooden Ant stopped, clutching the huge poison bottle ‘hind his back mo’ tightly.

“I was worried we wouldn’t have ‘nough poison,” said ‘nother Titanium Ant.

¿Is this a ruse to lure me into false security, only to arrest me later?

But nobody stopped him when he poured his bottle into the wide punch bowl, & Titanium Ants flocked to it. It took only a half hour for it to be devoured completely.

“¡Wow, I can feel it boiling my veins!” 1 exclaimed as she rubbed her belly.

Her partner nodded.

Wooden Ant could only gape in horror.

¡You don’t have authorization to do that! her mind screamed. ¡You’ll be churned into glue for this if the Jeff catches you!

But her eyes continued to stare @ the chocolate-haired boy through the keyhole. She knew there was some secret to be found ‘hind those perfectly-shaped rib bones.

Then she slapped her hand & 180’d, squeezing her hand as if it’d hold her back like a handle.

It didn’t. Turned out, her feet could just move them both with it, no prob.

So this continued for years, her trying to look ‘way & failing, only to ‘ventually give up entirely. She still stands there frozen to this day, though this chocolate-haired fellow she mutters ’bout has yet to be found.

She had to admit, ’twas rather difficult due to how quickly she was sliding. She was sure they coated these tubes with this orange Dorito grease on purpose to conspire gainst her, which she thought was rather cheap.

‘Cause o’ this, she had mere seconds to see the sign before the fork showing variables compared to values, which told her which path to take. Sometimes they showed many comparisons, for which some combinations had to be true, while others didn’t have to. ‘Twas confusing & she oft had to settle for the same direction she went previously if she couldn’t figure it out in time.

This boiled her nerves, which only made it harder to concentrate. But she needed to concentrate dearly.

1 wrong turn & she’ll run into the deadly rubber ducky, from whose wrath no one has ever lived to describe.

Morton Jr. raised his rattle-holding fist & shook as he shouted, “¡We need to get these nipple queens off the tits & tell ’em to buy their own formula!”

His crib mate began to whimper.

“I… I mean… I.”

Morton leaned into him & cried, “O, ¡quit your whining, hippie!”

His crib mate threw his head back & wailed, dripping tear after tear onto the bed.

“Hey, ¡cut that out! I don’t want to have to pay for the damages you caused.”

But the tears continued, flooding the crib, & then the whole house.

& that’s how climate change was born.

Though the temple looked simple & homey, inside it churned with gears that had to click consistently with millions o’ others in perfect precision. 1 1 that was s’posed to be a 0 & 1 0 that was s’posed to be 1 could cause the whole edifice to crumble.

‘Cause o’ that, some say that only a god—only 1 god, since obviously multiple perfect gods would’ve led to a war with only 1 god standing; they’re competitive bastards, I tell ya—could’ve programmed this temple. Others say that if that temple wasn’t perfect, it wouldn’t be there to talk ’bout—& what ’bout all the temples that failed that we don’t e’en think ’bout, ¿huh?

‘Course, this debate ended when an undeleted pointer led to a memory leak, which ‘ventually drowned the temple in oil. Theists pointed @ scientists & laughed @ their puny natural science; scientists pointed @ theists & said, “¿How could God make such an elementary mistake? ¿Did he learn everything from JavaScript?”

But all understood those prophetic words:

I had to fall
to lose it all;
but in the end,
it doesn’t even matter.

Whether tornado or earthquake, cellophane’s always there, on the hour, every hour.

When people have pans full o’ cheesy noodles this minute rotting into moldiness, cellophane is there to rush there in their boxy van & slap the protection on.

So if you’re in need o’ cellophane, just call 1-333-2547—that’s 1-333-2547. Our cellophane experts will protect your comestibles in less than 10 minutes or it’s free—& if you can find a cellophane company that can beat our prices, ¡we’ll match them!

¡So just call that #—1-33-2547—to have all o’ your food-preserving needs met! ‘Cause when it’s time for cellophane, ¡it’s cellophane time!

The Queen o’ Clubs always felt that vibration in her chest when a big moment—a final moment—was commencing.

This was that moment.

She twirled the red & blue beams shooting out her hands effortlessly while the audience gaped, popcorn spilling on its way to their mouths.

That would pale to how they’d look after they see this—the crowner.

She twirled them round for a few mo’ beats, & then swung her arms in 1 swift motion so that the beams touched.

She was always warned that the beams shouldn’t touch.

She doesn’t listen to warnings well.

The room shakes.

The ceiling crumbles.

A flash o’ white light.

& that was how the goldfish o’ Pechera smashed capitalism.

“¡Der kapitalismus fällt! ¡Der kapitalismus fällt!”

“Augh. That damn bird won’t shut his trap,” 1 o’ the farmers grumbled with her palms to her ears.

Her partner raised her fist. “Those damn chickens are wrong ’bout everything. Just like that scoundrel in the Fed promising high turnip yields.” She scoffed. “Just look @ the yield we have.” She slid her hand to point @ the dry ground.

“I say we ought to catch all those bastards,” she continued.

“¿How? We grab 1 o’ them & it’ll peck our eyes out.”

“Burlap.”

“¿Burlap?”

“Yup. Burlap. Burlap sacks are so powerful, nothing can break through them.”

They both turn to you & smile.

This story is brought to you by Burlap.

I saw them standing there through the wincing view o’ my windshield, in silence like a million angry spouses expecting explanations. Their white fronds were pale under the cloudy sky.

For now a’least.

Sweat crawled down my chin as I carefully steered my car through the patch so as to avoid touching a single 1 o’ them.

My hands began to shake as I saw the world brighten & felt the warmth grow on my face.

The clouds parted… the sun emerged.

& like a million Armos, they awoke, their leafy arms slowly bending to life.

They all turned their bulbous heads to me.

Their roots scratched into the turf as they trudged toward me.

The circle closes…

“I told you they were better than dusty potatoes,” said my mentor.

Our glasses shined with the immense light flashing from the wires attached to the tangy bulb-shaped green fruit in front o’ them.

I turned to her & said, “¿Do you truly believe this will make a better heat source than that lost by the sun’s demise?”

Her reply was the same reply I’d heard her give time & time ‘gain:

“Never doubt science.”

I didn’t. I could feel the heat vibrate out its core. There I saw it transform before my eyes, growing the subtle pulses that separate my book from my cat.

If only I’d recognized these signs—so many disasters could’ve been prevented.