You decide that the
best solution to this problem is to get the snake to be your guinea pig
in a quickly concocted, haphazard little basement experiment, and hey,
if the goo happens to kill the snake in the process, well, you've just
killed two birds with one stone, haven't you?
You entice the snake closer by drawing up your pant leg and giving it a
view of your juicy, varicose-vein-covered ankle, and sure enough it
glides across the floor for the kill — right into a dripping drop of
green goo falling from the ceiling! Hell, you couldn't have timed that
better if you were a watchmaker instead of a manager of some two-bit
pizza barn.
The goo sizzles on the snake's face as it flails about in a painful
fury, hissing and bashing its head from side to side on the floor—and
it's quite comical, really, watching that snake shaking into spasms and
turning around like a crank on the concrete basement floor. Well,
you think with satisfaction, that could have been me!
Unfortunately, you've apparently never seen a sci-fi B-movie before,
despite having lived in your parents basement until you were
thirty-five. Because no sooner do you brush your hands and declare the
snake dead, then it emits a green radioactive glow and grows to
gargantuan proportions, crushing you, your house, and everything in it
to a pulp before it tears off on a destructive rampage throughout the
neighborhood.
