Existentialism and the Aquaman of Bugs

As one of the great philosophers and thinkers of the 21st century, Andre 3000, once said: “this ain’t no thang but a chicken wing”. Implying that the trials and tribulations of the human condition are of no more matter than that of a chicken wing.

I would have to disagree with Mr. 3000 in light of recent events in my life. See, my roommate (or Kevin, I got my eyes on Kevin for this one), of whom I won’t name, left a chicken wing on the counter of our kitchen. This action seems to have evoked the wrath of some ant-iteration of Aquaman because I awoke this morning to a swarm, no, a horde of ants attempting to carry this chicken wing back to whatever Ant-quaman sent them.

I spent the next 20 minutes of my life murdering the droves of ants with a paper towel, emerging from my battle bearing the stoic expression one can only find in Civil War portraits or photographs of people who have watched the entirety Spiderman 3. I stood, hand pressed against the wall of a cold shower mulling over the sins of man for the remainder of the morning.

You ever see that discovery channel thing where they filled the ant hill with cement…yeah I’m spooked

My argument thusly follows that chicken wings are in fact quite a thang, having dramatic consequences on the psyches and physical actions of humans. This claim isn’t unsubstantiated either, the slightest tickle of my body elicits a panic, I’m probably going to have to murder more ants when I get home, wonder if they’re sentient or not, wonder if ants feel pain, wonder if any Rambo ants are out there that thirst for revenge against me (God I hope so).

My apartment has been relatively spotless as of recent which is a consolation, maybe these are just the reparations I pay for my cleanliness. Maybe I’m thankful, murking up on a colony of ants is something to keep idle hands busy during Week 2 of school, AKA Week Willfully Ignorant to the Homework I’m Receiving (I’d rather dig a hole than build a castle. Where my students working the field?).

Updates from the front to come. Charlie’s in the tree line (there was some broccoli on the counter as well, not as tasty for ants). Mom, Dad, I promise to come home the same man that left you. I know, no matter how many bugs I kill I’m still your son.

Love,

April 13, 2017.