South City Confessions: Cicadas battle mosquitoes for the top prize of biggest asshole bug

A small rant on a rather still and sticky Friday evening.

If you’ve read this publication even a little bit, you know mosquitoes can go to hell in my book. They’re rotten, dirty, virus-carrying, blood-sucking grifters who can fly. Every spring, they come out of the ground ready to steal blood and leave an itchy ass bump behind. They can all die tomorrow, like William Hurt told Viggo Mortenson at the end of History of Violence.

“What can I do for you, Dan?”

“You can die, mosquito, you can just die.”

Suddenly, another bug has climbed up the rankings for biggest asshole. They make noises like a small dinosaur hunting in Olivette, and carry a broken GPS. If you are around a lot of trees or forestry, you’ll hear their annoying wail. It’s so bad. Imagine something flying into your car window onto your clothing that is the size of a mini dragonfly.

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*Pardon the interruption for this station identification: A wise friend told me recently that putting a paywall in front of articles that could grow the subscriber list wouldn’t be that smart, but the more personal ones could be fair game to make a free subscriber think about crossing the bridge into “help Dan feed his six pets” land. I gave you a tease above and plenty of free takes, ones that never miss an ounce of passion nor leave a verbal bullet in the chamber.

There aren’t many writers who can produce a prolific rate of content about such a wide variety of subjects. For me, it keeps the palette fresh and the hunger to do it engaged. Anyway, back to those damn cicadas, the bug soaks up the attention span and helping gather ear wax inside the head of just about every human. Man, maybe the other bugs hate them too.*

I’m talking about cicadas, those loud bastards who wake up around nine in the morning, bitching and moaning, flying into whatever windshield will have them. They are unstoppable. Apparently, certain parts of St. Louis County-Ballwin and southwest Chesterfield-are a booming party ground for these things. Upon delivering to a neighborhood that could only be called the winding cul-de-sac road, I saw at least twenty dead cicadas on the street and easily twice as many flying around.

There’ll only be more and more with each hot and humid day. Since it’s late May in St. Louis, even the not-so-bad days are still too warm. When you give yourself a whiff and smell the odors of that kid in high school who never showered, it’s been a warm morning. Frankly, I’m tapped out of words and energetic thoughts.

But I wanted to come here and complain about another bug, because that could lead to a small column in a barely read newspaper down the road. Mosquito Diaries doesn’t sound half bad, and I could fill daily chapters after riding all over creation. Ameristar Casino garage is right next to the Missouri River, which means a few days of rain brings all the bloodsuckers to the yard for a taste of Danny. I carry more OFF! spray on me than Arnold carried bullets back in the 80s.

Cicadas are harmless, but they’re startling and distracting. Big and loud as ever, they could fly into my truck and clock me right in the side of my head, causing an accident. Once again, they don’t really know where they’re going out there. It’s as if the cicada prison computer systems went down, and the nutty bugs are out wandering. They either bounce off my window or die in a splat loud enough to make you think a chihuahua bounced off your windshield.

I got on I-270 this morning, heading north towards Hazelwood. As calm and tranquil as a lazy Starbucks in between rush hours, I was rounding second base on my route and therefore edging closer to a long weekend. However, before a mile could be driven that direction, two cicadas nosedived into my windshield. Suddenly, an action film commenced. Another banged into the side window and you could visibly see others smash into nearby vehicles.

Imagine being wrapped up in your phone, and suddenly thinking the dinosaur from Jurassic World is going to eat you. Rolling the window down meant eating the chance to potentially eat one of these large, hard-to-digest (ask your dog) creatures. No thanks. Air conditioning will always be a better bet.

Somehow, due to some (Tony Soprano voice) “whatever-the-fuck” occurrence, they’re here to stay for a while. Don’t we have enough on our plate, obeying the law and not punching other humans on a daily basis? We adult our best way through each day, resisting the urge to let it all out on some poor human. Our dogs are basically naked shrinks, begging for food and attention yet hearing us out. The 24-7 grind is enough, but here come these damn bugs.

So loud. So harmless. So big. Along with trying not to have my blood sucked by the Danny Ocean equivalent of a mosquito, we now have to deal with the new foe in town, the cicadas!

Enjoy your night, my friends.