die, cricket, die
I hate crickets.
I'm actually pretty OK with most bugs. Flies, mosquitoes, even spiders are like--they'll surprise me, like, holy fuck, you weren't here ten seconds ago, but also I have considered getting a tarantula so like--the smaller they are the less I like them, you know. Moths are an entirely different story and deserve to be sent back to hell.
But crickets.
It's September, it's rainy, and the bugs are starting to try and move inside. And while I've seen none of the nice ones (I actually genuinely like box elder bugs, they're sweethearts and I have a lot of memories of, before my family become heathens, catching them in church and naming them all Bob and it was a good time, man, I dig box elder bugs), there have been crickets.
Not too many. I've seen two total in my apartment, in like the past couple of weeks. But this morning I went downstairs to do some laundry and I heard one. I think he was hiding behind a washing machine or something, because I didn't see him, but you can hear those motherfuckers from a mile away. And the thing is.
The thing about crickets.
They're meaty. Like I'm sure that's why people eat them, because they're just this big dark brown/black motherfuckers and when you drop a book on them they just--it's not like a moth, who will smear yellow but is like, mostly fuzz and crunch. A cricket is not. A cricket has some meat to him, and that's just.
It's just the grossest fucking thing in the world, honestly. I'm pretty high on edge in my apartment, just in case one of them makes their way up--honestly, I'm just glad I don't have one of the basement apartments, because I'm sure they're getting flooded. I'm third floor and so like, it takes some effort to get up there, but I just.
Ick.
I'm actually pretty OK with most bugs. Flies, mosquitoes, even spiders are like--they'll surprise me, like, holy fuck, you weren't here ten seconds ago, but also I have considered getting a tarantula so like--the smaller they are the less I like them, you know. Moths are an entirely different story and deserve to be sent back to hell.
But crickets.
It's September, it's rainy, and the bugs are starting to try and move inside. And while I've seen none of the nice ones (I actually genuinely like box elder bugs, they're sweethearts and I have a lot of memories of, before my family become heathens, catching them in church and naming them all Bob and it was a good time, man, I dig box elder bugs), there have been crickets.
Not too many. I've seen two total in my apartment, in like the past couple of weeks. But this morning I went downstairs to do some laundry and I heard one. I think he was hiding behind a washing machine or something, because I didn't see him, but you can hear those motherfuckers from a mile away. And the thing is.
The thing about crickets.
They're meaty. Like I'm sure that's why people eat them, because they're just this big dark brown/black motherfuckers and when you drop a book on them they just--it's not like a moth, who will smear yellow but is like, mostly fuzz and crunch. A cricket is not. A cricket has some meat to him, and that's just.
It's just the grossest fucking thing in the world, honestly. I'm pretty high on edge in my apartment, just in case one of them makes their way up--honestly, I'm just glad I don't have one of the basement apartments, because I'm sure they're getting flooded. I'm third floor and so like, it takes some effort to get up there, but I just.
Ick.
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