Sadistic Little Winged Hate-Filled Buzzing Chunks of Crap

Sometimes nature is pretty. There are butterflies. Birds. Flowers and junk. Stuff looks nice, and you walk around and breathe in the fresh air and think, "This doesn't suck."

Is that just me? No. Of course it isn't.

Monday I was walking through a parking lot. And parking lots aren't pretty or anything. There are even songs about how not-pretty parking lots are. But you walk through them, usually at least once a day, unless you didn't bother to leave your house that day. Who knows. Maybe you're a recluse. Maybe you've been marathoning the Lizzie Bennet Diaries and it was way more important to watch that then go outside and see sunlight and interact with other human beings. Trust me, I get it. I have been there.

Me. Parking lot. Book in my hand, because that's what lunch is about. Lunch is for reading. But my book felt like something weird was on it. I thought it was a straw wrapper, because I was just in my car and I swear straw wrappers replicate in my car, like every time I turn around they double. And then I close my eyes and they double again. And again. And now I have a batch of self-replicating straw wrappers that will eventually fill the car and take it over, leaving me with no recourse other than to start biking 20 miles to work everyday.

The second I felt my hand brush against it, before the thought "straw wrapper" could fully form into words in my brain, the straw wrapper was actively stabbing into my hand with its stinger, because it wasn't a straw wrapper it was a FREAKING SOUL-SUCKING WASP.

That flipping bug of Satan, the spawn of the unholy, wasted no time after seeing movement, because wasps believe in nothing but screwing humans over the second they see you or come near you. They see you walking and they think, "RUIN DAY OF HUMAN" and "DIE DIE DIE DIE." Actually wasps probably only think the latter thing, because they are wasps.

It stung me on the pinkie finger, right at the top joint, where the finger is really narrow and so blood vessels and nerves and stuff are right there, easy to reach. I quickly killed the thing dead (or scared the freaking crap out of it) by exercising the Laura Maneuver, which is sort of a combination jump, swap, and flail. It usually results in insect death, but wasps aren't insects, they are the spawn of the beast, risen up from the pit. They don't die like other things die. They carry on, intent on ending their victim (me) and our entire species.

By the time I'd entered the restaurant (Pizza Hut), my finger was numb and yet somehow managed to hurt worse than the pain I experienced after I paid some guy I'd just met thousands of dollars to use a combination vacuum / leaf-blower, tweezers, and a camera to rip out one of my less-vital organs through my belly-button.*

I have a lot of minor aches and pains, but few ever make me just want to cry. This did.

The last time a wasp noticed stung me, I was in gym class and ended up with a living insectoid hypodermic needle stuck in my arm and ended up traumatized for life. It still didn't hurt like this sting did, and I didn't even have to run the mile after being stung this time.

At one point Monday, I could not bend my entire hand because it was so swollen.

Wasps SUCK. They are like suck on wings, except that implies a certain level of cool that wasps can't have, because they are literally manufactured out hate and misery siphoned off of society and condensed into something living. They are evil incarnate. At least bees have a use. Wasps just exist to ruin peoples lives, taking as many victims as they can before they eventually are absorbed back into the dark forces lurking in our universe.

The way I see it, bees have a gun with one bullet, so they use it to protect the hive or themselves if they HAVE to. They die if they strike, so they don't do it lightly. Meanwhile, wasps are like Jeffery Dahmer, they kill for fun because they like it. They are sadistic little winged hate-filled buzzing chunks of crap. And they are everywhere.

* AKA, gallbladder surgery