AcmeShorts

Jimmy sat on the front stoop and raised the magnifying glass, biting his lip in concentration. He wanted to burn the ants that were trailing out of the house as they marched to their hill under the linden tree in the front yard. “Stupid ants,” he thought as he watched them file through the ranks of his army and over the green plastic tanks. He rubbed his knee where they had bitten him the day before. “Burn! Burn!” he crowed when he got the focus right. How he hated them. One by one wisps of smoke rose from their blackened bodies. Jimmy didn’t know how long it would take, but his Gran told him to keep the ants out while she went to the Wawa down the road.

Minutes passed, and Jimmy began to feel like it was him under the glass. His arms and legs were pink and he was thirsty. He put down the magnifying glass and waddled over to the tree. Under its shady canopy, he watched the target. Moving closer, he stood carefully over the anthill and pulled down his shorts and pull-up trainers. Squatting, he let loose a doodoo salvo—one long corn-flecked coil followed by two smallish turds. Grimacing with the effort, he imagined the state of the Ant queen when her soldiers reported the assault. Her bitter tears would do much to salve the reddened welts on his knees. He grinned, pinched off the last bit of doodoo and wiped himself with some of the fallen leaves, surveying the destruction. Ants frantically ran about the hill, some partially trapped by the mounded turd. Remembering their stings, he backed off a little and, for good measure, arced a stream of hot pee toward the tattered remains of the once orderly march. “Ha! You dumb ants.” Jimmy smiled as he pulled up his shorts and went back to the house. He wiped his feet on the mat, opened the screen door and walked through the cool front room into the kitchen to get some lemonade.