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BUG AND THE GREAT MOUSE HOLE HEIST
As told by Bug. Probably exaggerated. Definitely snack-related.
Once upon a Tuesday (which is the best day for treasure hunting because the rent trolls are asleep), Bug, the bravest, boldest, buggiest explorer in all the Inner Sanctum, donned his utility belt (which was really just a Fruit Roll-Up tied around his waist) and set off on a grand quest.
His destination?
The Forbidden Mouse Hole.
Also known as that weird, dark gap behind the couch.
"Legends say it leads to the ruins of Snacklantis," Bug whispered, to no one in particular, flashlight duct-taped to his head and Cheeto dust streaked across his cheeks like war paint. "No one's ever returned… mostly because they dropped the remote and got distracted."
But not Bug. Oh no. He was focused. Hungry. Maybe slightly feral.
He rolled across the carpet like a stealthy potato, dodged a dust bunny that tried to bite him, and belly-scooted under the coffee table. (There, he found a Capri Sun he had sacrificed to the Floor Gods in 2022. He drank it anyway.)
And then…
He saw it.
A tiny, ancient archway in the wall—lined with cobwebs, lint, and one of Willow's(the youngest human in the home. Bug's favorite.) glitter barrettes lodged in the bricks like a sacred relic. The mouse hole.
He licked his antenna. "Time to make history, baby."
Inside was darker than a moth's armpit.
The walls were lined with LEGO traps and stale popcorn landmines. Bug hopped. Bug shimmied. Bug got stuck.
"Send snacks!" he shouted into the void. No one came.
Eventually, after wrestling with a rogue sock and possibly a small, grumpy gremlin (or maybe just a really angry Roomba), Bug stumbled into the treasure chamber.
And by treasure chamber, I mean: A forgotten box of lost toys, a pile of ancient buttons, seventeen rubber bands, and—at the very top of a crumbling soda box throne—
THE GOLDEN BAG OF CHIPS.
"Nacho Cheese! Limited Edition! Still sealed!!" he screamed, tears glistening in his cartoonishly oversized eyes.
He fell to his knees. The angels (probably mice) sang.
Triumphant, Bug emerged from the mouse hole hours later, coated in dust and glory, dragging his loot behind him like a conquering hero.
He raised the chip bag overhead, dramatically. "I HAVE RETURNED FROM THE DEPTHS OF DESPAIR WITH THE CRUNCH OF THE GODS!"
Willow stared from the kitchen, unimpressed.
"That expired in 2020."
Bug blinked.
He blinked again.
Then tore it open and ate one anyway.
"Tastes like victory," he whispered.
And also maybe a little bit of couch.
THE END.
(Until next time…My 6 year old nephew loved this adventure. O.O If this doesn't fit the rules. Let a Bug know. Good Day. Bug out.)
As told by Bug. Probably exaggerated. Definitely snack-related.
Once upon a Tuesday (which is the best day for treasure hunting because the rent trolls are asleep), Bug, the bravest, boldest, buggiest explorer in all the Inner Sanctum, donned his utility belt (which was really just a Fruit Roll-Up tied around his waist) and set off on a grand quest.
His destination?
The Forbidden Mouse Hole.
Also known as that weird, dark gap behind the couch.
"Legends say it leads to the ruins of Snacklantis," Bug whispered, to no one in particular, flashlight duct-taped to his head and Cheeto dust streaked across his cheeks like war paint. "No one's ever returned… mostly because they dropped the remote and got distracted."
But not Bug. Oh no. He was focused. Hungry. Maybe slightly feral.
He rolled across the carpet like a stealthy potato, dodged a dust bunny that tried to bite him, and belly-scooted under the coffee table. (There, he found a Capri Sun he had sacrificed to the Floor Gods in 2022. He drank it anyway.)
And then…
He saw it.
A tiny, ancient archway in the wall—lined with cobwebs, lint, and one of Willow's(the youngest human in the home. Bug's favorite.) glitter barrettes lodged in the bricks like a sacred relic. The mouse hole.
He licked his antenna. "Time to make history, baby."
Inside was darker than a moth's armpit.
The walls were lined with LEGO traps and stale popcorn landmines. Bug hopped. Bug shimmied. Bug got stuck.
"Send snacks!" he shouted into the void. No one came.
Eventually, after wrestling with a rogue sock and possibly a small, grumpy gremlin (or maybe just a really angry Roomba), Bug stumbled into the treasure chamber.
And by treasure chamber, I mean: A forgotten box of lost toys, a pile of ancient buttons, seventeen rubber bands, and—at the very top of a crumbling soda box throne—
THE GOLDEN BAG OF CHIPS.
"Nacho Cheese! Limited Edition! Still sealed!!" he screamed, tears glistening in his cartoonishly oversized eyes.
He fell to his knees. The angels (probably mice) sang.
Triumphant, Bug emerged from the mouse hole hours later, coated in dust and glory, dragging his loot behind him like a conquering hero.
He raised the chip bag overhead, dramatically. "I HAVE RETURNED FROM THE DEPTHS OF DESPAIR WITH THE CRUNCH OF THE GODS!"
Willow stared from the kitchen, unimpressed.
"That expired in 2020."
Bug blinked.
He blinked again.
Then tore it open and ate one anyway.
"Tastes like victory," he whispered.
And also maybe a little bit of couch.
THE END.
(Until next time…My 6 year old nephew loved this adventure. O.O If this doesn't fit the rules. Let a Bug know. Good Day. Bug out.)