Congratulations Thousands of Mites!

Your collective mass contains multitudes: not simply a single pulsing intellect but a mass thereof, a driving chaotic force that accelerates as a single entity.  It would be a remarkable thing to behold if it wasn't for the fact that your particular pulsating intellect-mass is entirely dedicated to two things: laying eggs and biting people on and around their genitals.

You're a mass of mites, possessed, through an irregularity of evolution, of a single hive mind.  You live in the pubic hair of one young woman, named Shawna.  Shawna, while a kind enough soul, doesn't care much for personal grooming, so your existence will, for the most part, be danger free: no risk of being uprooted or killed en-masse by some sort of hygenic experiment.

Well, no risk until today.

Some backstory: Shawna met a young man named Forbit a few weeks ago.  Shawna and Forbit struck up a relationship and fell madly in love with one another but Shawna, who was used to having a truly remarkable mass of pubic hair, wasn't getting her downstairs taken care of by the hair-averse Forbit.  Forbit, in turn, asked her to shave.

Shawna might've done something harsh in response, like asked Forbit to change his name to something less incredibly fucking stupid, but she didn't.  Instead she quietly, sadly, shaved her pubic hair.

That was this morning.  You've clung to the hairs, which settled on Shawna's bathroom floor, since.  As time drifts by, you'll realize that there's no way you'll be able to survive long enough to find a new host, particularly a host with as abundant a pubic mass as Shawna.  So you'll do what mites always do.

You'll emit a nearly imperceptible keening song that tears at the heart of anyone who listens to it.

It will be imperceptible to human ears, and no one will be home, but some silverfish in the walls will catch parts of your ditty and be very, very touched.  Of course, it won't keep you from dying.

Enjoy non-existence!

Congratulations Thousands of Mites!

Congratulations on Being Eaten by a Hawk!

Today you’re going to be going about your business, collecting grain and nuts and the like that larger creatures have forgotten, when a hawk will suddenly and violently descend from the heavens and grasp you in its claws.

You’ll screech your tiny mouse lungs all the way up, and when the hawk drops you you’ll believe, because you’re a mouse and ergo are a bit of an idiot, that you are free and that you have nothing to worry about. This belief will be dashed, along with your little mousy brain, when you hit some rocks.

Then the hawk will gently descend on some thermals and settle upon the stones where your body lays so that he can eat your remains.

The whole thing is basically an allegory for the middle class in America, by the way.

Congratulations on Being Eaten by a Hawk!

Congratulations on Rejoining the Workforce!

Sorry this is coming out so late. I really hope it gets to you in time.

At 2:47 PM today you’re going receive a phone call regarding your résumé. It’ll be from a traveling circus in Vancouver, Washington. They’ll have found your résumé while sifting through the dumpster of a Pizza Roma who believed that while your MFA was impressive it did not qualify you over Reggie, who, although he didn’t finish high school, totally knows how to party if you get his drift.

The circus will be looking for a last minute replacement for their human cannonball, and while you don’t have any prior experience they’re not looking for a long term hire, just someone intelligent and reliable to help them out while they’re in town.

You’ve been desperate for work ever since you came to Portland and your long term girlfriend left you for some douchebag with a moustache, a trust fund, and a mistuned acoustic guitar, so you’ll shrug, say fuck it and take the job.

This will be the beginning of a successful career which will rocket you to the top of the performance art world. It will also lead to your death in three months when a safety net fails and you’re impaled by a horribly placed spike pit.

Bare in mind, you’ll enjoy those three months a lot. Being a human cannonball is actually a lot of fun. And you’ll end up sleeping with a contortionist for most of them. Her name will be Holly and she’ll be really nice and pretty except for a cesarian scar and a certain air of inexplicable and terrible sadness she carries with her at all times.

But you will end up dying in a terrible circus accident that everyone close to you totally saw coming. You can still get out of it, but it’ll get harder and harder as you continue working with the circus.

Basically, we’re just saying congratulations on rejoining the workforce. Also you might want to hire someone who isn’t an alcoholic to be your safety coordinator. Just a thought.

Congratulations on Winning at Croquet!

Today your father is going to be killed in a drive by shooting in East L.A.. You’ll be playing croquet on his undersized lawn and, until recently, you’ll have been losing.

All of this will change when a small gang of H-dealers he owed money to pull up and fire seven hollow tip nine millimeter bullets into his torso.

You’ll fall to the ground and wrap your arms around him and scream why to the sky.

The answer to this question is obvious. Your father was a terrible person who peddled horrible, addictive substances to the downtrodden. He also overcharged for an inferior product and used unsavory business practices. You just have trouble seeing these facts because he’s your dad and you love him.

Also, you must know this on some subconscious level, because if you’d actually called 9-1-1 instead of having your dramatic moment your dad would be alive right now, so you kinda killed him. On the upside, you are now by default the winner of the yard sport you were engaged in.

Congratulations on winning at croquet. Services will be held at St. Mary’s in two weeks.