The Road Less Filmed

My parents recently had an ant infestation in their kitchen. It is winter, and according to this story, the ant is the master of being prepared, which includes relocating into a house.

Anyway, the sad truth is the exterminator (unfortunately, not a young Uncle Jesse from Full House) came recently to help rid us of the ants. I didn’t inquire as to his methodology, but it eventually worked.

But then yesterday, I saw a solitary ant! (Brave black blob below.)

And then I saw the first ant bumping into another ant! (Second brave black blob below.)

It dawned on me that these hearty buggers are now experiencing their world in a very The Road meets The Book of Eli meets I Am Legend sort of post-apocalyptic wasteland way.

Goshspeed, comrades. Watch out for the dishwashing suds, and try not to piss off SkyNet. You’re now just in it for yourselves. Forget the colony!

Futuristic Remorse

I have lapsed as a Yearbook historian, y’all. I forgot (or rather, to state the crime in full measure, pretended to forget) to reflect on the Futurist performance art dinner I went to a week ago as part of the Capitol Fringe Festival.

All attendees to this eccentric event got to wear special robes, be treated like numnuts, and experience everything from vegetable-scented air to Magic Food, which was mysterious white pellets that could alternately taste horrible, adequate, or palatable. In other words, it was a beyond blogworthy experience, but I just didn’t even know where to start when I tried writing about it. At first I beat myself up about it. But instead of feeling beat up, I actually felt upbeat.

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