For this bagging, tagging and snipping assignment, I recruited the help of my number one henchman: The Haitian. "I'm thinking we find some kind of super-pet pound, get a staple remover and form an assembly line. We could spade and/or neuter several dozen super-pets!"
"Yes," he replied, "that is a very good idea."
So, he and I headed to Primatech to pick up a staple remover, one of the many benefits of working for a paper company.
But once we arrived, it occurred to me that our paper headquarters had recently exploded. "Oh, yeah," I remembered, "That's why I entered this competition in the first place....I'm sort of out of a job."
"So much for the benefits of working for a paper company," The Haitian dropped his head low as we walked away from the rubble.
"We need a new plan," I said on the hoverbike ride back.
"We could buy a staple remover from an office supply store," The Haitian suggested.
"No way!" I said, "I'm unemployed. I don't have that kind of cash!"
That's when I saw a sign.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I asked The Haitian.
"I think so, Noah," he replied, "But wouldn't Dr. Goodall realize Koma isn't a bonobo?"
"No," I said turning the hoverbike, "we can neuter the world's strongest ant!"
"But I like her pancakes!" The Haitian complained. "Can't we neuter Uncle Ben instead?"
"Not Aunt Jemima," I corrected him as we parked at the freak show exhibit, "this ant."
We entered the tent to find a tiny huge ant towering nearly an inch taller than a normal ant.
"Hello there," I said to the little bug.
"Greetings, citizen," it replied, "How may I be of assistance?"
"We're here to neuter you," I explained.
His antennae stood on end. "What? Why?" he asked, bamboozled, shocked, overwhelmed, confused and mildly perturbed.
I explained to him how I was in a competition and I needed to neuter him to win the challenge.
"No, f-ing way," the super-powered insect replied.
"But we paid our ten dollars," I retorted.
The manager walked over and said, "They did pay, Atom. And watch that language. There are children here."
"I'm not letting them neuter me, Harry! I don't care how much they paid," said Atom Ant.
"We have a contract. They pay the ten dollars, you do what it takes to entertain 'em. If they're into that kinda thing, so be it. It's no different than the lady last week with the candle wax on your sternite."
"Well, f--- this, Harry. I quit!" He stormed out of the tent.
"Ah, retirement!" he said breathing in the fresh air.
"Retirement, eh?" I said quickly coming up with a new plan. "You know, my friend here happens to be a doctor. When's the last time you had your prostate checked?"
"Prostate?" he repeated, once again bamboozled, shocked, overwhelmed, confused and mildly perturbed.
"Yes, your prostate," I answered. "It's absolutely vital that it's checked, particularly once you enter retirement. You wouldn't want to ruin your plans for leisure with an early and preventable death, would you?"
"I would not," he replied.
"Then, you should have a check up. Prostate problems could strike at any moment. One minute you can be checking the time on your three thousand dollar gold and diamond watch you bought yourself as a retirement present and the next minute, BOOM!"
"Boom?" he looked over to The Haitian for confirmation.
"Boom," The Haitian nodded.
"Well," Atom Ant said, "I suppose it's better to be safe than sorry."
A short medical procedure later and he was out on the golf course enjoying life. Unbeknownst to him, his days of being "up and atom" are long gone.