Friday, May 08, 2009
10:34 p.m. In an apartment not your own.
Did you know they have hooks on their legs?
That's probably the thing that most surprises people. Little tiny hooks. So when they climb trees, or grass, or scurry up your hairy legs, they can hold on. Pretty amazing, huh? They secrete sticky material too. Itty bitty drops of glue. Right-side up, upside down. Left, right. Here, there. It don't matter. Beautiful things. Beautiful naughty fucking things.
Another thing people don't know is that all those little legs, six on each, times each insect, times hundreds, times thousands, so many poking little legs, make a sound when they walk.
Yeah, I see the way you're looking a me. I'm not saying they goosestep across the floor and everyone looks. Get real. Right? But they do make a sound. I kid you not. Louder than you'd think.
Come on. Relax. We don't have to rush things, do we? You don't want to rush things.
My big mistake was this. One Christmas when I was a kid, I wanted an ant farm. My parents laughed at me. I thought it was the coolest thing ever. I guess they figured it was like putting a cockroach on a leash. Gross.
Well, Christmas came. You know how this story is going, right? Noooooo ant farm. I got an aquarium instead. But last summer, I said fuck it. I wanted an ant farm, so an ant farm I shall get. And it WAS the coolest thing ever. Except I get excited in my sleep, you know? And I had the bugger right by my bed, so I could watch them. I knocked it off, okay? There. I said it. My fault. I knocked it off the table. But in the morning, no ants. I had lots of stings, sure. Most people would wake up if a colony of ants was stinging them. But not me. They were gone.
I couldn't find them, but I could hear them everywhere. I looked all around. It was fucking hilarious. I walked and turned around and lifted up carpets. I could hear a whole army of them, but nary an ant could I find. See, they tunnel. That's the key piece of information. First, it's slow. They plunge one tunnel down to get started. Then, they talk for a while. Plan a whole frigging underground railroad. I don't know how they keep it all straight. All the twisting and connecting passages.
Really, I'm serious. You should relax. I'm getting to the good part. I figured it out. Right up here in the noggin. Tap, tap, tap.
You look at me like you don't believe me, but those ants weren't going after hard, mucky ground when they had best, softest, tastiest shit ever! Come on! I couldn't hear right for a while in my left ear. That's how I figured it out. The bastards went in there. See? I can hear them all the time inside my head. Munching and munching the ole' grey matter. They never rest. And after about a month or two, they get things pretty eaten up. I can't think straight. I can't sleep. If I wait too long, I won't even be able to talk.
I know. I'm sorry. If I could, I would whack you on the head really hard to take care of things. But I can't go messing up your pudding in there. Everything needs to be sparkling clean and surgical like.
Thanks for talking to me. It gets lonely sometimes. I can forget the ants for a while, even though I'm talking about them.
I'll do it as quick as I can. If you stop fighting, the saw will cut your skull fast.
Stop fighting, okay?
I don't even like the taste, but I have to swallow it all.
I need to replenish my brain.
And the ants have to feed.