The ant farm, incidentally, is beginning its inevitable decline, proving my point. (And God's.) About 14 ants are left. They’ve been at low tide for a while – they went nuts a few days ago when I gave them some sugar water, but they seem to have come to the conclusion that they’re trapped in a Beckett play. My wife can’t stand to see the thing; she wants me to end their misery.
“They’re not miserable,” I said. “They’re ants, for heaven’s sake. As long as they can build another pointless tunnel and stack the heads of their dead brethren, they’re content.”
We tried Sea Monkeys the other day, but they didn’t come to life. Just as well. I would have been tempted to put some in the Ant Farm to see if the ants would fight the brine shrimp, or perhaps cross-breed in some unholy experiment that would create socially-organized amphibious insects.
Awesome. Especially the Beckett reference.
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