The year is 526744, you have evolved into a crab

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You scuttle under your 2 foot doorway and greet your wife. She is a crab. Your ceiling is 5 feet high. You are wearing a suit, specifically fitted for your crabby body. Your suitcase is made of fish scales. Your house has approximately 2 inches of water coating the entire floor. You get dejavu. Crabjavu. You remember a time when your floor was dry, and your suitcase leather. Leather is only a delicacy dish, these days. You grab your C-phone , specially fitted for your right slicing claw. You post a detailed writing of your crabjavu flashback to crabbit, your favorite crab-social media app. It is met with sarcastic remarks and skeptical criticism. You think to yourself “yeah, yeah i guecc im wrong about thic” (every s is replaced with c in crab-modern grammar) so, you put away your c-phone and settle down for the night. You crab-sleep in a vat of pebbles across from your crab-wife, and wonder if your skin was every stretchy. You then fall acrab-sleep, and never crabthink of it again.



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