This Week In F–k You: The 17-Year Cicadas

04.10.13 4 years ago 73 Comments

After what seemed like an eternity of frigid, windy late winter pointless, warm weather has finally arrived, at least here on the East Coast. In fact, it got so hot so quickly that it’s like spring was circumvented entirely. I have no problem with that, so long as it doesn’t get cold again for a while. Say, six or seven months from now.

The biggest drawback of summer weather is always the insects. If it weren’t for bugs, I’d have no outstanding complaints about conditions outside during the warm weather months. I can deal with everything else. But now we come to find out that this is one of those years where the loud-ass 17-year cicadas surface to deafen us with a buzzing cacophony and disgust us by having their nasty alien corpses strewn everywhere.

It’s not just the usual array of pests this year. Soon, when the cicadas emerge from the ground in a few weeks, we’ll have to contend with the constant din they bring to the outdoors. Not to mention, we have to look at a bunch of orange-eyed giant flies flitting about, always ready to land on us. They’re not any less bothersome when they’re dead. I just got a puppy a few weeks back. I have a hard enough time keeping her from eating mulch and other dog shit. I’ll have to spend half the summer keeping her from scarfing down dried out bug remains.

I also hate that they’re called 17-year cicadas. Yes, I know that’s the actual life cycle of the damn things, but since there is more than one brood, we have to experience them more often than every 17 years. Sorry, I make no distinction between Brood X or Brood II or Brood Whateverthefuck. They’re all the same shitty bugs. Furthermore, IT’S ONLY BEEN NINE YEARS since they last tormented us. Fuck you, cicadas, get back in the ground until 2021 when I’ve had my 17 years of peace.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, you can find a few pony-tailed deviants with an off-putting fascination in the insects. Back when I was an intern at the Baltimore Sun in 2004, the last time the cicadas emerged, I wrote a story about a place that was doing cicada tattoos for people who wanted to memorialize the swarm. Unfortunately, talking to those people didn’t shed any light into what would make them want to remember that summer when it was extra gross outside.

Fuck you cicadas and fuck you misguided people who want to romanticize them like they aren’t horrible and disgusting. The cicadas aren’t even here yet and I already want them gone so I don’t have to think about them for however many years until they bother me again.

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