Ant Man
Hello everybody, my name is David. I am a man and I have a job. I used to be a family man until I accidentally manslaughtered my wife and children. Have you heard that fact that we only use 10% of our brains? Well that doesn't seem accurate to me. They died so quickly I'm pretty sure we use a lot more of it.
Anyway, as you can imagine, without my wife around I quickly found it difficult to place my socks (let alone clean ones).
"Barbara! Barbara!? Have you seen my socks?" I would regularly shout upstairs to the empty bedroom. It's funny how easy it is to forget terminally removing the brains of your loved ones.
After the fifth or sixth time of turning up to work noticeably without socks, a helpful colleague, named Reginald, approached me.
"Wife dead or something?" He asked, pointing at my bare ankles poking out above my shoes.
"She relied on a lot more of her brain than I had been lead to believe." I replied.
Reginald nodded.
"I know a guy that can help with that." He said, passing me a small business card, "when I murdered my second wife I couldn't find my socks for months. He really helped me out."
"Oh, I- I'm not a lawyer but I'm pretty sure in my case it was manslaughter."
"Yeah, sure, whatever. I don't care. Just call this guy." Replied Reg. "We're getting kind of bummed out seeing you around the office without any socks on all the time."
I did as Reginald asked because I respected him a lot.
After calling the number on the card and arranging an appointment, a strange, short man came to my house carrying a jar of honey.
"Wife dead? Can't find your socks?" He asked me from behind thick rimmed glasses.
"That's right." I said.
I invited him in and offered him a seat next to Barbara, my wife's, decomposing body.
"I tried to get rid of the body. But, you know, people ask a lot of unnecessary personal questions..."
The little man seemed uninterested.
He sat me down next to him on the sofa with Barbara and began to massage honey into my filthy, sockless feet.
I'll be honest, I found the whole thing oddly erotic.
"Leave it on three days." Said the man with the honey, "the ants come for the honey. The ants get stuck in the honey. They die. It looks like socks. Not one fucker will look on you as a sad wifeless sack of shit ever again."
"Brilliant." I said. "How much do I owe you?"
"It's part of my community service." He answered and left.
"Well, Babbs. Looks like I don't need you for anything anymore." I said to the rotting corpse of my manslaughtered wife, whilst giving her a jovial slap on the back.
Barbara, my wife, slumped forwards and fell on the floor. In doing so her right arm appeared to stretch out towards the hall where the airing cupboard was.
"Ah fuck. I never would have thought to look there, Barbara."
Credited to koalazeus
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