Delayed pomegranates ignited a fountain of parapets encrusted with an assembly of assemblies–twice baked.

Ginger fidgeted as she waited for Gregor to recognize that he had been transformed into a giant cockroach. Ginger poked at Gregor’s hard shell. Gregor said that feels good, do that again. Ginger said you’re a giant cockroach. Gregor said same to you, but more of it. Ginger looked in the mirror and saw that she was an even bigger cockroach than Gregor. Takes one to know one, said Gregor. Ginger admired her beady little black eyes and said doesn’t the female of the species eat the male? Gregor said you’re thinking of spiders. Ginger said no, I’m thinking of eating you; where’s the Worcestershire sauce? Gregor said you can’t even pronounce Worcestershire sauce.

After the nuclear annihilation of all other living things on earth, Gregor told Ginger now we have a use for all that Worcestershire sauce we squirrelled away.