Review of Cicadas

There is a phenomenon in the Midwest known as the 17-year cicadas. It’s possible that these exist in other places too, but I’m not looking it up. I’m not a librarian.

Unfortunately for me, the first summer of the cicadas that I experienced was when I was seventeen. Since the last summer of cicadas had occurred seventeen years earlier, which was before I was born. Finding out at 17 years old that you’re about to be accosted by a cicada swarm is not fun. It is the worst birthday surprise ever. I mean they weren’t actually there on my birthday, but still.

You know what a cicada summer is like? It is a living hell. They swarm around, and they buzz, and they land on you, and it’s the worst. I could put a picture in this post right about now, but HELL TO THE FUCKING NO. Why would I put a picture of a cicada on my blog. WHY.

I know, I will draw a picture with my excellent art skills. Observe:

This is a diagram of a cicada. He is feeling angry.

 
 You see why a being such as this would strike fear into the hearts of men. And me.

According to a Mister Charles Darwin, cicadas should not exist. That's not a direct quote, but I bet he would totally agree. Cicadas do not do anything other than wreak havoc for the 2-3 weeks that they are around every 17 years. They are actually the dumbest animals ever.

Imagine this scenario: you are a cicada, and you are flying around because why the hell not? You're going to die in two weeks anyway. But instead of choosing to fly in circles inside the forest preserve from whence you emerged, you come up with a brilliant idea-- you're going to fly across a large, busy street! Who cares that you can't move very fast and are incapable of traveling in a straight line? Dodging traffic is the best game ever! It's like Frogger, but a million times more horrible!

This lack of simple survival instincts is why cicadas should not exist. But for some odd reason, they do. And they drunkenly zigzag across the road, and if you hit them by mistake they splatter into green goop on your windshield. I promise, it's literally green. I almost had an accident the first time that happened.

Cicadas are the worst of the bugs. Thank goodness, by the time they're supposed to come out again, I'll be 34 and will be able to take myself on vacation until they're gone. You know who is not excited to be 34? Me, that's who. THE END