formicae mortuae sunt

with the fuzzy bewilderment that marks every monday morning, i picked up a bunch of bananas from the fruit bowl, operation: lunchbox.
5 or so HUGE FRICKIN ANTS dropped out and scurried in opposite directions on the tabletop, their mission clearly blown, their attempts to thwart the big blonde enemy futile.
bravely, they scampered to thier deaths underfoot and were laid to rest amid the recyclables in a shroud of viva, extra absorbent.
*taps*
but dude, if carmen miranda lived in my kitchen, she'd be like totally screwed.