Ant Plays Dead

I was in the kitchen rocking out to tunes on my Discman, cutting the tips off some radishes.

Surprise jolted through my body as my roommate suddenly entered the kitchen. I composed myself and addressed him.

“Hey Dick,” I said. “I am cutting these radishes so I can feed them to my pet rabbits.”

Dick smiled at me, grabbed a beer from the fridge, then started saying something.

“What?” I said, removing my headphones.

“You have a huge ant on your arm!” he said all excitedly.

I looked down. Sure enough, there was a large ant on my arm.

“Wow,” I said. “But I kind of want to leave it there, since I enjoy how it feels as it delicately crawls on my skin. Like a mini-massage.”

Dick looked at me weird for a moment, then swiped at the ant with his index finger, sending it to the floor.


The ant was still, on the floor, but definitely not yet dead. Either stunned or playing the age-old ant-trick of acting dead, I thought.

But then Dick stomped on it. Then again. Then a third time.

And then he exited.

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