MYRMEKES ME IN ST LOUIS

In the BECMI game I am playing in, while engaged in operations against a demon/ancient ant-god alliance, we recently found out there are 5 of the f&&&ers : One Dead, One Asleep, One Married, One Captured, One a Master, or say the mushroom men to whom such secrets are currency. In a futile attempt to curtail the dark powers of these antisocial aculeates through cross-platform ridicule, I have reimagined them into a sitcom.

STAN RUFA, a man so ordinary he wears pants, is trying to fix his sink, but keeps hitting his head on the top. Finally he gives up, chucking his wrench in disgust. Then he retrieves the wrench and beats the hell out of the poor basin, breaking it. “Honey!” he calls out. “I fixed the sink!” (laughter). He retires to his chair to read the funnies.His wife’s offstage voice is a reedy thing, needling him. “Staaaaanly,” says she, “Did you get the lawnmower sharpened? I swear the grass is higher than a horse.” (laughter). “Staaaaanly, did you pay the water bill? Is our checkbook balanced?” “Staaaaanly, did you do x-y-z-y-x-w?" He does his best to ignore her, finally giving up and trying ineffectually to move some of these projects forward.

“Okay, okay,” he says, toddling toward his workbench, only to be distracted again by whatever little thing.

My Mother the Car

“If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself,” says the wife, emerging, to cacophonous cheering. Her steps are thunderous. Stan’s wife is AMBLY BLUE, an ant god! Pan out. Their house is giant! Stan Rufa’s living room that looked like a sitcom set is just a tiny little corner of the greater complex.

Behold the cage constraining MYRMICA GREEN, an ant god! This time she has constructed yet another elaborate and spindly mechanism to extend her reach all the way across the house and snatch a key ring that hangs by the television with the affixed legend No Toukc. A key to fit her cage. Nevermind! Somebody on every occasion will carelessly foil her plans. Stan, perhaps, screwing about in his kitchen. “The pilot light is out again! Where is that matchbook?” and noting an open fire nearby

(a fire that inflates a balloon, that in turn twists the wind-up monkey, whose cymbals spook a rat, who so startled, will rush the wall, in so doing hook the ring on his tinfoil hat, etc., etc.),

Stan employs it to light a rolled-up newspaper torch. And, being a conscientious sort (ha ha), puts out the fire with wild gesticulations

(balloon wilts, monkey-percussion peters out, rushing rat becomes disengaged and goes back to gnawing a nearby recliner cushion instead of entangling the keyring with his paranoia helmet).

Escape thwarted again, Myrmica Green’s resigned exasperation is cruel comedy gold.

The aforementioned recliner at all hours contains CAMPON RED, an ant god! She never wakes up, but participates in all manner of wacky animated dreamscapes where she embodies numerous whacky personas: a pirate captain, a corporate overlord, a trainer of hippopotamus whose charges refuse to leave the wallow to perform a car chase after a purse-snatcher. Her snoring becomes more pronounced when the show remembers she's there.

https://www.deviantart.com/jaaaiiro

And don’t forget the dun, decomposing body of DORYL BLACK, a dead ant god! Or almost dead. She stirs periodically, but then the sun comes out and the giant magnifying glass suspended over her focuses its rays and zaps her all over again (to much hilarity, according to the merciless meter of the laugh track at any rate). Her death jerk foils just as many key-acquisition plots as anybody else’s paroxysms, heartfelt or no.

Today’s episode: Stan is trying to make a X-mas card to send to Santa so he can get a new cordless telephone but it's up to Myrmic Green to Linus-like explain the meaning of the holiday to our beleaguered husband-hero. Green’s command of the religious dogma are, it must be said, idiosyncratic.

https://xaltotun.newgrounds.com/

At every episode’s end, pull out further. The studio audience in fact a single creature straddling the seats, PONERINAE PURPLE, an ant god! Her mandibles move in earie concert to the canned laughter as the credits begin their slow, slow descent, ape from man.