Strange Tails
More Beheadings and a Funeral

Across the planet Ponyata millions of human pieces in the great game of Huminecraft stood erect from their field of labor. Millions more stepped from their guard post, their arts-and-crafting, their whittling, and their fishing boats. They stared in wonder at each other. Even the newest one, the one still wearing her old lab coat, who had only just got used to the feel of her second collar, looked up.

Where am I, they all thought.

And then they remembered.

And then they asked, how did I get here?

Quickly, they remembered.

Why am I holding this shovel? This gun? This ball of wool? This fishing rod?

And then they remembered that, too.

And then they yelled, in perfect unison, who did this to us?

And so they remembered.

With a seething, boiling rage, the humans turned on the large, spiny, yet visibly trembling spiders about them. With shovels, with guns, and with crochet needles, they hacked, shot, and stabbed at their foe.

Then, as one, they scratched their scalp and yelled, what the hell is that itch?

And again, in perfect unison, their heads exploded.

“Oops.”