Bugs

I hate bugs. Anything that has a unnecessary amount of legs in my opinion is scary as heck. Why the heck does a bug need over 1,000 legs? So if it somehow looses a few, it can still get along fine? “Oh well, I still have 986 legs left. It’s nothing.” They don’t even have brains. All they have is a clot of nerve cells, and maybe a few neurons mixed in there.

I suppose you wonder how my unnatural fear of bugs started. It all began when I was 3 or 4. Me and my Mom were out on a playground, and I was playing in a wooden train. I remember what she said when everything went all “Bullet-Time”. “Ha… Ha… Ha! This… is… fun! Let’s… try… and… go… ’round… the… w-OHMYGODIT’SABEERUNFORYOURLIVES!” And just then, a bee (A male, it didn’t sting, but I still panicked(I know a lot about bugs, but I fear them)) flew in, looking for some food for its hive. Unfortunately, it was a one-way trip for the late Mr. bee. My mom brought down the 30-pound force of her purse down on it, then we both ran like death was chasing us.

Ever since that, I’ve been horrified of any buzzy, crawly things. All I know about the roots of my fear is that whenever I see a small, one-centimeter long bug, my mind says it’s a demon-fanged-sandworm-creature with the Swastika and the words “I KILL YOU” carved into its thick hide, and guns and knives tied to its limbs. And that’s the small ones. Once I was in a pool with my friends, and I saw a huge-mother-Hubbard. A massive 4-inch wingspan butterfly was going down to the pool for a drink of pool water. I thought it was thirsty for my blood. I screeched like a banshee, and my mother came out of the house thinking I was dying of gunshot or something, but there I was, flailing around like a beached shark.

You say: “You’re bigger than a ant, so don’t be afraid.” But guess what? I’m bigger than a grenade. Are you trying to turn me into some undefeatable war-machine that fears nothing? Even a small explosive (With a really big explosion)? Well, sorry pal. If I were like that, I’d join the Army, and at least get paid for it. Try some other kids.

They invade our homes. They eat our homes. They make awful smells, hide in your hair, drill into your unmentionables, take over your bowels and eat your half-digested lunch, and can even turn you into a mind-slave. (It’s true! A type of parasite-esque worm infects small mammals, and targets a clot of nerve cells that control their movements. They have total control over the host at this point, and know how to disguise themselves as a normal, uninfected member of its hosts’ species. It’s only a matter of time before they can infect us. DOOM I SAY! DOOOOOOOOOOOOM…

This is why I love birds and cats, and any other predator of our six-legged foes. Like snakes! They aren’t that bad. They eat pests!