Or Worse

“What the hell is that thing?”Matt asked his friend Stan.

“I don’t know,” Stan replied, “It was here when I moved into the house. It was kind of heavy, so I just never bothered to toss it. But it’s never glowed before either.”

“Is that why we’ve all turned into chicks? And why we were dogs before that? And old before that?”

“I couldn’t say for sure, but for some reason I want to say yes. And I think if we turn it off, we’ll be stuck in whatever form we transformed into at that time...”

“Well, don’t turn it off now. I don’t want to be this blonde babe for the rest of my life.”

“But what if it turns off on it’s own? And what if we’re something worse when it does? What if we’re rocks? Or cockroaches?”

“Okay, fine! Turn it off! I’d rather be a woman than a cockroach, I guess. But you’re going to have to be the ones to explain it to all the guys upstairs that you doomed them to having menstrual cycles, or should I say gals?”