Ants

There are ants everywhere. You look down and see them creeping up your pant legs: whole armies of ants swarming, prancing. They have evolved hard black shells that are smash-resistant, like the riot-gear worn by cops. If only you could crack them open like a crab or lobster, to taste them, you would find that these ants are really sweet-natured. If you could speak their language, you would enjoy meeting them. And, when buying them clothing, you’d need to shop in the petite section; for these ants are the size of mangelwurzels. (That’s big for a beet, but rather small for a dress.) 

So, like I said, these ants infiltrated your home, and now they’re crawling on your clothes. They soon get into your hair, which makes you leap up and try to shake them off. You begin to shimmy around your apartment. You end up twisting-&-shouting directly out of your door and all the way to the Mall of America. The other shoppers remark: “Look at that person who is covered with swarms of ants — I hope the critters don’t migrate over here and start creeping up my nylons.” But soon the ants have spread out in all directions and blanketed everyone. They’re clambering everywhere. The ants even gang together and use teamwork to push a boulder into a nearby stream. 

But these smart, strong little creatures are no match for the U.S. military. Once the members of the top brass get word of what is happening, they place a single telephone call, and the problem is solved: 

“Oh my God, look: here it comes!” say the ants among themselves. And the frame tilts up to reveal a very large anteater.