Let me begin by saying that the current state of our anthill is very strong indeed. Our workers have done a splendid job of carrying small particles of dirt and sand and arranging them on a pleasant symmetrical mound with a nice hole in the center for coming and going. This classic design has served our kind well and will continue to in the future.

The ants in our anthill are healthier than we have ever been. Each of us has enough food to fill both of our stomachs and we are strong enough to lift many times our own weight. We have raised the life expectancy citizens of our hill to 60 days. Yes, that's right! It's a long, comfortable life that our ancestors of weeks gone by, might never have dreamed of.

And yet, there are still the fears. It has been a long time, two weeks since the last attack - so long the younger generation only knows the stories, but still we fear that Timmy Murchison may yet return. But why are we so afraid? Timmy has set the flames of the sun itself upon us with his heat amplification glass. He has poured water and soda and Kool-Aid upon us in an attempt to down us. Time and time again he has simply stomped upon our anthill, our home, in an attempt to eradicate us forever from the world.

And yet, have we not always rebuilt? Do our workers not always immediately spring to the task of returning us to shelter and comfort? Some say they do this simply because they are sterile mindless drones who I control with my pheromones, but I say they do it out of love - love of their fellow ants, and love of their anthill! Yes! They do it so we will always have a home for our eggs, our larvae, and yes - even our pupae! The pupae are the future!

I'd like to acknowledge someone out in the audience tonight. He's worker ant number 896,764,238,927. He recently found one of our fellow ants, number 766,248,799,324 lying dead several feet away from the anthill he called home. And what did 896,764,238,927 do? 896,764,238,927 lifted 766,248,799,324 onto his own back, and carried him back here to the anthill, our common home. And the thing is, wouldn't any of us? Well, not me because I'm the queen, but the rest of you would. I would like to point out 896,764,238,927 to the rest of you, but there's no way in hell I could pick him out. Aside from me, we all pretty much look the same here. Hey, could 896,764,238,927 stand up maybe? No, we can't stand up? OK, never mind. Anyway, your compassion is appreciated.

Having said these things, having underlined our current health and abundance and emotional well being, let me address an item of controversy that has recently arisen here in the anthill: another queen has been born.

Now, some say that this is no cause for controversy. Some say that an anthill can have more than one queen. Some say that having two queens is, in fact, a sign of a prosperous healthy anthill.

I am not one of those.

All my adult life, I have ruled this anthill alone. I am used to being the sole sovereign and governess of your destinies. I am not accustom to sharing my power and nor do I intend to try.

But I am not asking you to fall upon this new queen and tear her apart with your scissor-like, side-cutting mouths. Instead, I am here to announce that I am stepping down as queen. True, I am not old. I am only 45 days. I have many days still to live.

But sometimes I wonder if this is all there is. What do we do here? We eat, we work, we reproduce, we continue working on our ingenious and inevitably successful plan to overthrow the human race as the dominant life form on the planet through means of encouraging their overpopulation and thus hastening their eventual downfall through means I will not go into here as we all know them so very well that there is no point repeating them.

Maybe that's enough to make all of you happy. I don't know. It's not my concern anymore. I've ruled you as fairly as I cared to and now it's time to turn my compound eyes to new challenges. I'm moving into a new colony. It's small yes, but it's beautifully lit and comes with the cutest tiny plastic green farmhouse and tractor.

OK, yes, it's an ant farm. And yes, it's going to be owned by Timmy Murchison. Look, don't judge me! It's an exciting opportunity for me. I'll have lots of hot new male ants to serve me, maybe even some of those spicy fire ants I've heard about. OK, back off. Hey, look at it this way: by observing my new colony, maybe Timmy will gain a better understanding of our kind and our ant farm and not be so destructive in the future.

Not buying it eh? Well, I don't have to explain myself to a bunch of workers, OK? I'm the queen, get screwed. Oh, that's right - you can't!