One of my friends and I went through a "Sea Monkey™ Phase."
We each had a Sea Monkey™ MicroView Ocean Zoo™, purchased during a pilgrimage to Edmund Scientific.
We lovingly raised our sea monkeys, fed them, spoke to them, and were disappointed when they did not turn out to wear little crowns, or have furniture.
One Friday evening, Bob (yeah, Forks Bob) happily said goodbye to his Sea Monkeys™, knowing they would happily greet them in their happy undersea way the following Monday.
He spent a care-free weekend, awaiting his return to his special friends (to whom he was a kind of a god, dispenser of all that is good, particularly match-head's worth of Sea Monkey™ nutrient powder).
He entered his office that fateful morning to check on his pals before embarking on his day's toil as a programmer at a local university. He looked through the magnifying lens of the MicroView Ocean Zoo™ and beheld with amazement that a population explosion had occured over the two days and where about a half-dozen Sea Monkeys™ had reposed a mere three days before, there were HUNDREDS!!
In his amazement, he summoned his coworkers, and babbled his excitement at how well his care and tending of the tiny creatures had succeeded!!
He basked in the glow of his own awesomeness.
Until his boss confessed to knocking over the Sea Monkeys after he left on Friday.
She had gone to a specialty aquarium store in a panic, looking for Sea Monkeys™. Several clerks had denied the existence of such things as Sea Monkeys™ until she was rescued by the owner who was wise to the ways of comic book marketing, and sold her the brine shrimp, with great amusement.
(I had my own Sea Monkey™ near-tragedy, when the accountant from the company I was working for at the time was holding my MicroView Ocean Zoo™ (i had the blue one, Bob's was red) up to the light for a better view, when she was struck by vertigo, and fell on her ass. To her credit, although she fell, she kept a tight grip on the Sea Monkeys™, and they only got sloshed around a bit. Didn't lose a drop.)
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