This being a fable, you can bet your sweet petunia pie that this ant will suffer while we learn some sort of lesson.
“Hey dude, you’re blocking the sun.”
The man paused, and looked all about. “Who the what?” He was confused by the curious voice that seemed to come from nowhere.
“Down here, numb brain.” It was a common black ant. If you are familiar with the body language of ants, you would know it was pissed. Seriously.
A real life Rube Goldberg machine that complicates the easiest of tasks for the sake of inconvenience.
The words penetrated a stressful hour of silence, which felt like a fortnight. This is how time elapses in the penitentiary.
Had I known this toy of tomfoolery could cause immediate eye cancer, I would probably be in prison.
There was a time before the Pope took a shit in the woods, beside a patient overly under-rated bear. It was a time when it was a mandatory skill set to know your history, as well as memorizing the National Anthem, that “Star Spangled Whatever” tune. It was a time when every American government official, especially the president knew these important facts. The accumulation of all this was what made you a proud American. At the risk of coming off an inane fuck stick, I must ask, what were we so proud of?
Considering this hidden message of white power, we must thank God for laws, otherwise who knows what this guy would do or eat.
The president was unhappy. He had a profound craving. One Crave Case™ later, he still felt the emptiness accompanied with the gastric uneasiness of 30 sliders. It was as plain as the enormous girth around his waist; he was unfulfilled.