tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19508680.post-1138646012532762042006-01-30T13:29:00.000-05:002006-01-30T13:33:32.566-05:00<span class="Text"><div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">I'll never forget the day of the slaughter. Hundreds were killed. Mothers and daughters, fathers and sons. The village doctor was among the dead. The horror. The horror. I was only five or six years old, but I understood how great a tragedy had befallen the young community. There were no survivors.<br /><br /></span></div><div> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">Like the rest of you, I had sea monkeys when I was a boy. *sniff* I loved those little guys. I watched them grow from gritty flakes in a paper pouch to full grown sea critters. Remember the pictures on the box? The sea monkeys had big eyes and crowns on top of their heads. There were little boy monkeys and little girls. There were mothers, fathers and family friends. They interacted like people and lived in a giant castle. There was a time when I wanted to be a sea monkey. <img alt="" src="http://www.sunjournal.com/UserFiles/Image/Street/seamonkeys.jpg" align="right" height="250" width="200" /></span></div><div> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">And then it happened. I rushed home from school to visit my ever growing family. I searched for the tank in which they lived and found it in the kitchen. It had been washed and rinsed and dried. There were no signs of little Jim Bob and Ella May and sweet Sally Sue. The babysitter, a woman of 245 who had dyed black hair and bright red lipstick, had found them on the window in my bedroom. Believing she had stumbled upon a bowl full of brackish, bug infested water, she dumped them down the toilet and gave it a flush. I need... I need just a minute.</span></div><div> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">Chances are good that the sea monkeys survived. They probably grew to massive size feeding on the nutrient rich waste in the sewers. I'll bet they went after Mrs. Gilbert one night. I'll bet they slithered up her stairs and stole into her bedroom, dragging her screaming from her bed with those long, pink tentacles...</span></div><div> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">I'm getting freaked out. What the hell was my point? Oh, yes. My point. Sea monkeys are creepy little life forms, especially as portrayed in advertising. It's amazing no one has taken up the concept as a basis for a novel or horror flick. The creative child ads random products to his sea monkey water and the results are terrifying. Or a lonely professor falls in love with one of his sea monkeys and endeavors a find a way to join her. Great opportunity for a sea monkey sex scene.<br /><br />But I've said too much already.<br /></span></div><br /></span>Mark LaFlammehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05078311850822126859noreply@blogger.com