What's wrong with a thousand moths? You could train them to clean your fans!
A thousand moths, uncontrollable - they flutter throughout the night forever. Leave a sock out one night and overnight it's infested with moth eggs, looking like the sock has developed advanced cancer, only the cancer is made out of asbestos and cotton. Your clothes: Gone. You better start learning to enjoy the breeze or popularize nudity in some Warholian pioneer movement, because anything they can eat they will. Scales, littering everywhere. The dead cluttering your floors like a Styxian nightmare. Out of the corner of your eye in the moonlight, they fly. You kill them but they keep coming back. You just want to sleep but the moths won't let you. Like a poor Japanese owner of a Tokyo skyscraper in a science fiction B movie you scream Mothra, why??!
Golden darkness engulfs you.
You awake and believe you are safe, for they are gone. Then you step on a shirt thrown ajar and they swarm.
Another night awaits you.
You pray winter comes to end them. You pray and pray, with your hands full of moths. You try to cry but their wings dry your face, and leave you looking like a bronzed geordie or an orange faced oompa loompa that had sex with a panda - for the dark rings beneath your eyes are growing darker every day.
Some vengeful deity takes pity on you and throws your country into absolute chaos with a russian winter. The white wind is terrible, howling with the souls of the untold masses of lost, cold souls that died within. You swear solemnly that outside your window, frozen solid with cracks coming out, you swear you can see dead warriors running around chased by disembowled horses. You see dead men with stiff hands clutching broken spears, standards and rifles.
The cold creeps up on you, thank the heavens for climate change.
You see the moths all creeping back into your wall insulation. It doesn't matter, you are a mammal. Homeotherms are the master race, don't moths know about endurance hunting? Not even antelopes can compete with the internal regulation of a human.
Then you realize what you're dealing with.
The moths have eaten your covers.
Their dead have ruined your electrical cables.
Your bread has gone off. The moths didn't cause the bread to decay, but they would if they could.
Angrily you pound your fist on the walls and you can hear your neighbours telling you to fucking cut it out. But they don't know about the moths.
They don't know about the moths.
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Topic: [MILK] There were 12 eggs here what did you do with them? (Happy thread?!) (Read 16323024 times)