I'm just gonna start here

I don't really know where this is going, so I'm probably going to end up rambling for a while. And I don't care what you think of it, because it's your own fault if you read it.

Once upon a time there was a ladybug named Todd. Todd was not a lady ladybug, he was a man ladybug. That is not to say he was a manbug because such a thing does not exist to my knowledge.

Todd was generally happy with his lot, even being a ladybug with male genitalia. His lived a moderately bourgeois lifestyle, flying around and landing on things and then flying around more and doing whatever it is that ladybugs do when they live bourgeois lifestyles.

One day a cicada came and knocked on Todd's door. Todd left the chain-lock thing on the door and opened it a crack so he could talk to his visitor and the cicada said, "Hey, my name's Florence. I was wondering if you would maybe be interested in buying some new carpet?"

Todd didn't know what to say. Did he need new carpet? Probably, he didn't have any carpet anyway so it was something that he could probably use. It always sucks just a little bit when you get out of bed and the floor is cold, and carpet would solve that problem nicely. "Well," he replied, "I could probably use the carpet, but I don't really want to buy it. Do you have enough free samples to cover my floor?"

"No, we don't do free samples, sorry," answered Florence.

All of a sudden, about fifteen million more cicadas swarmed Todd's house, all yelling at him and trying to sell him carpet and insurance and a new set of knives and socks that stay up better and hats that don't mess up your hair and toasters and memberships to various fitness clubs and all sorts of other stuff. Fortunately Todd had left that little chain-lock thing on his door so they were all still outside.

Todd tried to politely refuse all the the cicadas but they couldn't hear him because there were so many of them and they were all yelling. So Todd went back into his bedroom and pulled his shotgun down from on top of his dresser and went back to the door.

"Ok, y'all," he shouted back, "I don't want none of that shit you're selling!"

Then he shot Florence in the butt, and all the other cicadas realized that shit just got real and it was time to go. Fourteen million nine hundred ninety nine thousand nine hundred ninety nine cicadas flew away. Florence, however, was left bleeding all over Todd's uncarpeted porch.

Todd put his shotgun in his umbrella stand and headed back to the kitchen to grab a dirty dish towel, went out on the porch to start cleaning up the mess.

He soon realized that wiping up the bloody mess wouldn't really be all that effective while there was still a bleeding cicada around. "Clean yourself up," he said, tossing her the rag. Then he went back inside and turned on the fishing channel and sat on his butt the rest of the day, while a cicada bled to death on his porch.

This is not actually violent or inappropriate or anything because it's about insects and insects are terribly brutal creatures. That's how life goes in the underbrush, yo. Even for bourgeois ladybugs.

Just kidding about that last post...

I just realized that I've gone pretty much a year without posting. Whoops. I don't really have much that I want to write about on this blog, though, so don't count on finding something else here any time soon. But I also don't plan on the next post being more than a year from now. So if you want to come back when there's something new, just check back in a year and there'll probably be something here for you.