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June 18, 2004


I thought I hated cockroaches.

I thought I sympathized with Adam and D about how horrible they are.

But it's 2:57 in the morning, I'm still awake, and cockroaches are not to blame.

No, it's the damn crickets.

Two of them. One right next to my bed somewhere and terribly loud, the other on the other side of the bedroom. Just when I'm starting to drift out of consciousness.... CHIRPIRPIRPIRPIRP! How did we get "chirp" for that noise anyway? Good onomatopoeia it is not.

Anyway. One starts. It stops. I almost fall asleep. The other one starts. They chirp in unison. They take turns. Then they shut up, I thank God, and I try to go to bed. Then they start again.

If I remember my bug science properly, crickets chirp to attract mates. And only male crickets chirp. So either they're both looking for cricket poon-tang in my bedroom or I'm sharing a room with two gay crickets that are too stupid to find each other and do ... whatever nasty thing it is bugs with exoskeletons and no apparent genitalia do to each other.

Once there was a cricket on the ceiling as I was getting into bed. It fell on me. Not as disgusting as a roach, but it drives you out of your skin to have some squirmy thing fall out of the sky and start jumping around on you when you're half-bagged. Or, to steal a phrase from my mother, "three sheets to the wind." Whatever the heck that's supposed to mean. Maybe something about laundry and clotheslines.

Now the crickets just plain won't shut up.

Why yes, I am surprisingly lucid for it being 3:04. Thank you for noticing. It takes years of practice. Years of practice pulling all-nighters to finish assignments. Ah, the glory days of high school, where my best work was BSed in the wee hours of the morning and I got a whole two hours of sleep before going to school to turn the insufferable assignments in.

Wait... it's silence. Maybe the crickets have given up on achieving a homosexual liaison in my bedchamber this evening. One can only hope. I can only hope. Maybe they're getting their freak on right now. Maybe some big dyke cricket will come use them for their cricket-sperm and then eat them like a praying mantis, leaving only herself, a being incapable of making that horrible racket.

Time for attempt at sleep, number... I've lost track. Also, my beard itches. But at least I don't have sweaty teeth like Uncle Walt (name the movie, win nothing!).

Posted by Colin at June 18, 2004 4:08 AM

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Cricket poontang. Best phrase EVER! :)

Posted by: D at June 18, 2004 11:06 AM

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