Untitled
And it burbled as it came. Burbled? she thought. Fifteen minutes later, after scouring all her fathers' dictionaries for a definition, she gave up in disgust. Flouncing out of the room, the wake of her passing disturbed the family of dust mites living in sin in the darkest corner of her room. If only she could have talked to them at that moment, she would have had her definition of burbled. Burbled over with filth is what they did. Being only tiny mites, they had a lot less body to control, yet they couldn't even do that. The head mite commissioner pronounced gravely in court that tonight would be an unscheduled literary raid, off from the once-every-9-days cycle. "We must add 'burble' to the dictionary immediately," he declared. "And 3 other words I heard the children asking about!"
Their reconnaissance was a joke. Ten minutes of skulking, two minutes of creeping, 23 seconds of spying, and they were done. It was the laughing that gave them away, though. Reconnoitering was their favorite entertainment, and it tickled them no end. Literally, to no end. When you've been laughing for 48 hours, half the life span of a dust mite, your cheeks are in agony and your stomach has put a contract out on you. You had to laugh when your fellow mites were so depraved. The American flag glistened in the reflection of Susie mite's 20 eyes as she thought sadly about it. That was how it had been. Before the destruction. Before the ... Big Cleaning... Perched on top of the flagpole with only some (particularly stupid) dust had she been spared. Ah, those glory days, back before anyone had thought to burble, before depravity had sucked the sap from their souls. Fortunately, they were still laughing. What, you ask? Still laughing? Well, yes. They had to stop at one point to catch their breath, but since the tickling went on literally, to no end, they barely caught their breath before the laughter recommenced. And they all laughed happily ever after.
