Some thoughts on bugs

1 09 2009

Living in New Jersey in the summertime, I have a lot of experiences with insects. Not in a “hey, isn’t New Jersey so gross? Ew, bugs! Ew, Jersey!” way, because I really like New Jersey, even though bugs are gross. More in a “Wow, there are a lot of different types of bugs, particularly in this vicinity” way, which has a much less negative tone to it.

One might say that I am a bug expert. A bugspert. That would be incorrect, but you are very nice to say so.

Far from being a bugspert, I am more of a thoughts-on-bugspert. A thoughtspert. Here, eat some:

1. Bugs must spend most of the day thinking that they are the last bug on Earth. In my backyard alone, a bug could probably go for a whole day without seeing another bug of their kind. Imagine if you were a bug in a desert! IMAGINE IT! Desolate, hot, and totally alone. I assume it goes something like this: “Ugh, being a bug, is so tough, I’ve got that status report due at 9…P…M… where is everyone? Where are all those other bugs? Where did I even come from? Am I going in the right direction? These pieces of grass all look the same. OH GOD THEY ALL LOOK THE SAME! [another bug passes] Oh, hey, it’s Tom. Hey, Tom! You’ll never believe it, I thought I was the last bug around. You too? You don’t say! Say hi to your wife for me, all right now.” Repeat process about 5 minutes later. Probably more frantically.

2. I like to imagine bugs as having human lives (obvs) but in really, really sped up time. I read somewhere once that flies only live for 7 days. So, that’s roughly 10 years time a day. Day one: the brunt of your childhood. Day two: middle school through college IN ONE DAY. Day three: Marriage, two [million] baby flies. Day four: one [million] accident baby flies. Day five: Wish you could retire from being a fly, but have to keep going to fly work because you’re too young to reflyre. Day six: Prostate problems. You poop in your pants once and don’t tell anyone. Day seven: alive alive alive DEAD. You leave your fly cats to your fly descendants.

3. For the amount of dead bugs I assume exist in the world and die every second, I feel like I have seen very scant evidence of bug death. It seems like the world should be littered with the carcasses of natural death bugs. Where are they all going? Are these bugs eating their dead? Aren’t they ashamed? Aren’t WE ashamed that we’ve made the bugs feel like they can’t leave their dead out in the open and have to eat their own instead? It’s kind of the same way I have never seen a squirrel poop. It must happen. But where? Although perhaps it’s best that we don’t see these miracles of nature. I almost crashed my car once because I was watching a dog poop on the side of the road. If there were bug carcasses and squirrel poop, we wouldn’t worry about texting while driving because we’d all be dead.

4. Butterflies are disgusting looking up front. Keep your weird, nectar sucking curly-cue dick out of my face, butterfly. Get some hands and drink like a regular person. Bug. Drink like a regular bug.

5. Actually, do bugs drink? How do they get water without drowning? Can they osmose? Geez, it’s hard out here for a bug.


In short, where is a worm’s favorite place to live?


Other acceptable answers:  Wormconsin, the Dirt-y South, on a “segmented” bus (this worm is also homeless and loving it).