Malcolm opened his eyes, shivered involuntarily, and shoke his shaggy wings. Wednesday.
He shuffled groggily up the strand of grass to its tip, then splashed his face with the cool dew collecting there.
He sighed. Another day, another dollar, another dickhole manager. Would it ever end? A short hop —which for a moment resembled a lazy suicide attempt off the grass blade— sent him on a long glide towards the nearby apple orchard for a quick breakfast. He watched the other moths chatter and flutter and coddle the baby caterpillars as they crawled along the broad leaves lit by the morning sunlight. Malcolm sighed. He wasn’t hungry.
Damn. Why is it never good news? he thought glumly. And just when things were starting to get better. Salazar was practically nonexistent at the office these days. When he was there, he just remained motionless there under his heat lamp or on his big, cool rock in the corner. Legarto had been managing all the big accounts in his stead, and it had been that way for months. Legarto barely noticed Malcolm most of the time, and they both seemed content to ignore each other, which left Malcolm with the rising hope of a future without the belittling abuse he had suffered under Salazar.
Malcolm sighed again, a little harder. The memo had gone around yesterday.
Starting today, Sagan son of Salazar the Caiman was officially the new CEO of Lepidoptimal.
I don’t understand… What I cannot create I do not understand? Why do moths have dickhole managers? They should go, like, where the wind blows em I thought.
yeah but wouldn’t it be funny if they DID have dickhole managers… c’mon, try to stay with me on this, fry.
it’s modeled after a children’s story — i think you can handle it.