The orchid mantis protects the Frangipani tree with neon limbs and stillness. And not talking all the time about its hate and not talking at all ever. So if you’re headed over to the blossom to sip the nectar or sniff the nectar, you better be faster than the fastest thing you can think about if also you’re < aprox. 100mm tall. Since the orchid mantis snatches visitors and folds their chassis, none should visit the Frangipani with shenanigans. The orchid mantis glares into your concertinaeable self and wholeheartedly desires your ruin. And knows the limit of claw-fling and petal-by-petal weight capacity, and is a timeless genetic veteran of intrapetiole warfare and a stern buddhist to boot. The Frangipani gifts orchid mantis to its enemies. The orchid mantis receives desire-to-exist signals from your own synapses; this pleases the orchid mantis. Its nightclub coloring an aposematic indicative of an analogous, human-maniac thirst sequence; a desire to self-destruct the police you could say. The Frangipani sways in the wet breeze unblinking as the orchid mantis is. The two of them in a concerto movement amongst plush oriental leafage. That’s why the orchid mantis goes banana on Frangipani invaders, withdraws them to shade and breaks in half them, and laps the flickering celia of their slow cessation.


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