Via Work Product comes this special little story about the mysteries of midgets.

Midgets are pretty mysterious, primarily because when have you ever actually spoken to a midget? Like I don’t even know how I would respond if a midget spoke to me. I’d probably pick him up and, in a very condescending voice, say, “Yes, I am a big person and thus know more about the world.” Then they probably wouldn’t be too pleased because the little freak was just asking me what time it was. Also I don’t know why I always take a picture of a midget when I see them on the street and then giggle like a Japanese schoolgirl. I’m waiting for the day when a roving band of midgets comes and throws molotov cocktails through my apartment window to get even for my crimes against them (though I’m not entirely sure how they’ll be able to throw it since their arms are pretty much as long as a piece of Italian salami, which doesn’t allow much torque on your throws).

Anyway exterminating them or domesticating them as pets isn’t the worst idea. Just saying.