Poppy Seed Panic! Barry's Battle Against the Bagel Menace

Barry considered himself a man of stoic calm, until Tuesday. That's when he spotted it – a speck, no bigger than a pinhead, crawling ominously across his pristine kitchen counter. "A TERRORIST BUG!" he bellowed, a sound usually reserved for operatic tragedies or stubbed toes. What followed was less a reaction, more an impromptu interpretive dance of pure, unadulterated primal fear. Barry launched himself backwards, clearing the kitchen island with an agility he hadn't possessed since high school track (and even then, only in his dreams). He spun, arms flailing like a windmill caught in a hurricane, accidentally elbowing a ceramic gnome off its perch (RIP, Gary the Gnome). Then, spying a rolled-up newspaper, he seized it, transforming into a one-man extermination squad, swatting at the air with the ferocity of a seasoned dragon slayer. A teacup, caught in the crossfire, shattered. His wife, Sharon, entered, stepping carefully around the debris. "Barry," she said, calm as a cucumber, "that's a poppy seed from your bagel. It's... not moving." Barry, breathless and slightly concussed from his own theatrical acrobatics, peered at the stationary speck. "It was playing dead, Sharon," he whispered, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow. "They're evolving."