Stupid bugs. They think they’re so much better than us. Always lording their six legs and their wings and their thoraxes over us.
What gives them the right to crawl on my dirt, and fly through my air? Nothing, that’s what.
They’re so arrogant; they act like they own the planet or something. Like as if just because they outnumber us humans—the dominant, best, and most awesome species on the planet—42 billion to one, they think deserve some kind of respect. Not hardly.
I bet I could take a bug in a fight. Hell, I bet I could take ten thousand of them in a fight. Bring it on, you exo-skeletal freaks.
Oh what’s that? You can’t come out and fight because it’s raining, and every little raindrop is like a giant bomb to you and your little friends? Yeah, you would pull out a lame excuse like that, wouldn’t you? It’s just like an insect to back down from a fight.
Hey you, bug! Why don’t you come on through that glass and face me like a real member of the Arthropoda Phylum, Mr. “I’ve got striped legs and you don’t”? Huh, huh?
Yeah, I didn’t think so, you pansy-pollen-eater.
If you were even worth half the effort I would go out there and squash you like a squash ball.
Hey, here’s a pop quiz: Which species has invented more gasses, powders, and pellets capable of decimating millions of members of another species at once than any other?
If you guessed “Homo sapiens,” you win the prize, which is instant death at the hands of my bug fogger, you stupid little lungless freak.
Now if you’ll excuse me, the commercial break is almost over.