Ant Matilda
Scot Walker

 

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Striving for perfect is all we hear—it’s like a never-ending loop on an audio tape, echoing and re-echoing so loudly our entire hill shakes. Don’t those drones above us realize we’ve been avoiding welfare forever—we’re ants, for God’s sakes! We created socialization before humans knew what the word meant. We created order, good order, fine order for all of antdom . . . even for those nasty queer red ones and the villages of the damned army ants. We’re all equal in our battle for perfection.

But. . . and this butt is a big butt for all us little ants, since  that horrible noon on January 20, 1981, when we lost our peanut eating friend, Jimmy Carter, to the let’s destroy America and end all social programs Ronnie Reagan, we’ve been stuck inside this shaking hill, defending our borders, as we munch our way out of a thousand never ending avalanches.

True, Jimma left peanuts . . . hundreds of thousands of peanuts for us, all ground up into tasty little nuggets, so we can outlast this Reagan fellow and peace and prosperity for all God’s creatures will—

CRUNCH!

Matilda Agnosti, grandmother of 6,325,310 Banded Sugar Ants, didn’t see Nancy Reagan’s high heel—she never knew what dug into her. . . she only felt the pain as her dying thoughts were lost in the rubble of her universe and the screaming of the American people as they inaugurated their new president, singing: God Bless America!




First published: May 2018
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