???????????? ????ℍ???????? ????????????????????????ℝ????

???????????? ????ℍ???????? ????????????????????????ℝ???? ???????? ???????????????? ???????????????? ???????????? ???????????????????? ???????????????? ???????????????? ???? ???????????????????? ???????? ???????????? ???????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????? ????????????????????.

And nobody could prove otherwise. I could see it on their phony faces. They felt the frustration fully now and it was clear they were still try something famously futile. Switching

the fan to oscillate. I hoped to dry out their eyes and bring them to tears. Anything to get some ounce of pure emotion. "Wake up DULLARDS!"

I wacked them with a spoon over the head. It was then that i got an emotional response. Was it anger? No. Was, it remorse? No. It was hanger. They were hungry angry and coming for

the soup. It wasn't even good soup. Someone had randomly thrown a few rocks into it. The dirt had flaked off, turning the soup a grayish brown, in which bobbed mushy dumplings,

and mealworm noodles--still alive--squirming and thrashing in a bacterium broth. Yes, perhaps, to most, it didn't taste good, but to some (the miniscule majority) it was Heaven

in a test tube. Neil and I knocked back a couple shots of mealworm noodles and laid on our cots feeling the sensation of the mealworms- unaffected by our stomach acid- swimming

in breath-taking formations: the flag of our land, the Mona Lisa, the cover art for Sgt. Pepper in astounding detail. All this the mealworms in our stomachs were able to convey to

Glubpreet shubba *tinklingsound* orghachuk *digeridoofart* and that was the end of Earth's waste disposal problem,, in one fell swoop.