The Loss of Marmalade

Timbo gripped the shaft of his spear. "Could you pass the marmalade," he asked.

"What?" responded Christine.

"Marmalade," Timbo said, louder. He tugged at the bottom of his loin cloth. She can never hear me over the fan, he thought, and by the time I get the marmalade my toast is cold. The ants climbed up the leg of the chair and kissed his titties before being sucked into the exhaust fan.