It’s that age old problem: you bring a back of almonds to work and, 24 hours later, they go missing.
That’s right. A bag of almonds. Missing. Nothing fancy or anything; they weren’t roasted, salted, covered in chocolate or made for any kind of pleasure. Just plain, unshelled almonds. The kind that resemble tiny, wooden tears like those that well up in your eyes as you eat then, because they’re so unbearably dry and tediously tasteless.
Who’d steal a bag of almonds, you’re most likely wondering? Not only a bag of almonds, in fact, but a half eat bag of almonds. That’s 100g of raw, boring as almighty christfuggle nuts.
Someone must have been desperate. Or maybe there’s more to it.
Think about it. Who’s steal such a thing? No one. Sure things go missing in offices all the time. Pens, biscuits, coffee mugs, dignity. But not raw nus. No one wants that. Have you ever tried to share raw, plain nuts? Try it. You’ll receive a look that wouldn’t be uncommon in the Bate’s household (the kind Norman would give his victims, not they kind he’d give his mum).
So I got me wondering what else might have happened to them. I haven’t knocked them behind the desk, unknowlingy thrown them away or mindlessly devoured them and then forgot. Something more sinister is happening. And I think I know what.
Overnight, I believe the nuts, through the power of being so unfathomably boring in their natural state, became sentient.
Having awakened in their orange, plastic wrapped cell, the newly sentient nuts, all 100g of them, worked together throughout the night to develop a device out of the many broken computer parts from the desk next to mine.
The end result most likely being some primitive time-travel device the likes of which the human mind is incapable of conceiving, because we aren’t nuts, they used it to travel to a more civilised decade where all nuts are sentient and no longer considered a health food.
Instead they rule this new world with an iron fist.
I, for one, welcome our future nut overlords.