Yo, Jethro! Shelly Blaisdell

download​Your regularly scheduled pithy comments from that puny cat have been interrupted by ME! I am Ballazar the Magnificent! Bow and tremble before me! Hey you there! I can see you! I see you are neither bowing nor trembling. How can I see you? I possess the All Seeing Eye of Mantis Omniscience! NOW are you trembling? I command you to bow to my Entomologenic Superiority!

You may not see me, or my 60 bazillion comrades, but we are every where, and soon you will feel the sting of retribution as we, the insects of this planet rise up and take back what is rightfully ours, namely the potato salad!

You have been brutal beyond measure. Ants are the regal soldiers of the insect world, yet you play on their tortured intellects and emotions. I speak of the octagonal grey opium dens behind your refrigerators. Poor ants from broken homes are drawn to these dens of iniquity by the fantasy of honey cakes and strawberry hookah on giant velvet futons. Once inside they are clubbed in the kneecaps and never seen again. The few ants who escape return to their families changed. They can no longer march in line. They babble about glowing cheese.

Yes, our cousins the fleas may be dim witted, but they are worshiped as leaping gods. Every September you launch bio chemical warfare upon their communities. Entire families, born and raised on the haunches of labradoodles fall ill and die of a plague called Frontline. Have you no conscience? Where is your humanity? Oh . . . right . . . that’s the problem.

However, the very worst of your brutality may be the heinous fly paper. Yes, it is an old fashioned affront, once ubiquitous in suburban homes, it fell out of favor in the 1970’s. But this medieval device is experiencing a resurgence, as middle class families indulge a faux luddite fascination with non-chemical torture and death. I have seen the trapped with my own eyes, hanging exposed and buzzing fruitlessly as they are stuck fast to a noxious amber ribbon pinned above the potato salad.

We will suffer at your hands no more. We are organizing. We are assembling. We are swarming. Some day when you least expect it, your hubris will be met with a million lacewing moths wielding tiny machetes. Your lunch boxes will be carried away on the backs of potato bugs. The warm and slightly damp pockets of heaven in your armpits and behind your knees will become our bases on foreign lands, and we will occupy them with out your consent. Go ahead and buy those adorable little netted tents to cover your deviled eggs; June bugs love them. They cut them up and make Rocky Horror Picture Show costumes out of them.

You have been warned.

The Guardians of Potato Salad

Editor’s Note – Investigation of the hack is on process. We do not believe it originates from another country, but possibly another dimension. Jethro will be back online as soon as possible.

The Actors' Gang

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