A few months ago I made a deal with the spiders in my apartment. I felt it was an honest, fair agreement worthy of Jimmy Carter. With one notable exception (when I had to Unleash The Fury), spiders haven’t caused a ruckus since the deal went public.
With moths, it is a different story.
I can see the usefulness of spiders. But a moth? What is your purpose? Let me answer for you: nothing. You have no purpose. You are superfluous. Seeing you in my apartment makes me question the very existence of God. What all-seeing, all-knowing creator would make such a worthless bug?
Moths, you cannot eat my clothes any more. I’m sick of pulling out a sweater at the beginning of winter only to find it riddled with holes, as if the sweater was engaged in heavy battle while I was busy wearing t-shirts.
My favorite winter cap, a present from my uncle, is also besmirched by your tiny moth mouths. Worse still, the cap is synthetic. There was absolutely no nutritional value to that cap. Why did you eat it?? I hate you, moths.
I’m also sick of this “fluttering around any light” you guys do. I’m trying to read after a long productive day. Little moths keep landing on my book and on me, only to take off, do a couple loop-de-loops, and land again. This has nothing to do with biological imperative. You are maniacal.
Like Israel and Egypt, spiders and I have an alliance. We have made peace where there was once war. Moths, you and I are more like the United States and Terrorism. (Or, Drugs.) There will never be peace because you hate me for being me. And you know what? I hate you, too. I will never negotiate with you, you little winged devils. I will write mean Country Western songs about you. I will draw comics that depict you as impotent, conniving, and petty. I will make fun of everything you hold dear, right to your inscrutable little faces.
You’ve made the mistake of angering a blogger, moths. That is a mistake you will long regret.