God made little girls and psychotic sex fiends. If he’s gonna take credit for one – he better take it for the whole mess.
Likewise he’s gotta admit – he made these Weaver ants, which appear to me to be straight from hell. They are an insect’s worse nightmare. As I’ve already shown once, but am about to show again with first hand documentation.
At the top of a mountain – as I’ve been a lot lately. I’m always amazed by the number and variety of wildlife up there. It’s nearly 1000 vertical feet high. It’s windy and a lot of bugs get blown onto the tiled concrete structure. Once there – many can’t get back up to fly because there’s a small curb-type wall that stops them. Most could fly over that you’d think, but, since the wind is so strong coming up the mountain and over the top – when a bug tries to fly upwards he/she gets knocked back down.
The weaver ants know this. They have nests up there in the leaves. They weave these big leave nests to have their eggs. Some Thais eat the eggs – I ate them for lunch once. ggs in my soup in Thailand >
You might wonder – did you feel bad eating the ants’ eggs? Hell no. What for? God made me like I am and them like they are. If I can eat something without getting violently ill, I just might – you know? There’s no morality holding me back, as there’s no morality to ants about what they do to other insects.
So I’m watching these Weaver ants just kind of hanging around in a group. A large group of them is in the shade and a few scouts were walking around slowly in the sunshine area. They congregate at the couple spots on the floor where they know they’re likely to find a meal. Today was no different. I first saw some small winged bug get caught in a down-drift and stuck on the tile close to the ants. Immediately a scout went over, bit it and stepped back. The fly flew horizontally as far as he could in the opposite direction – hopeless to get out against the down-draft and back up into the air.
I went back to eating my rambutan, fruit of the gods. The good gods – wherever they went.
I looked down again when I saw a bug in front of me get caught in the wind and tossed down on the tiles. It was a beautiful 4-winged insect – almost like a butterfly – and for lack of a better word – that’s what I’ll call it. It had amazing colors. It tried a few times to get off the tile and fly up into the air – but the wind was much too strong.
The ants saw it too. A few came over and bit it and stepped back. It tried to go quickly but then one grabbed it’s left front leg, immediately one grabbed the right front leg. Quickly 30 ants or so surrounded it, all of them biting down somewhere. All legs were held by 1-3 ants. I count 18 ants in the one photo. Ants got under it’s belly and bit into it there too.
The butterfly was instantly captive and just waiting to die.
I hopped down from my perch and went about killing red Weaver ants by the tens. The ones that were holding the butterfly DID NOT LET GO! No matter what I did! I would kill an ant right in front of them – they held tight to the butterfly! So, I killed ever damn one. The last one was stuck to the underbelly and though I had crushed his abdomen – he held fast to the butterfly! I couldn’t believe it. I had to pull the thing off – separating his head from his body.
And that was that. The butterfly had some of his wings ripped, I’m sure he was stunned from the many bites. He didn’t try to fly or do anything. I thought he was dead already.
I picked him up and launched him into the air – and he flew off.
I thought – cool.
Then I wondered – what the hell is the point of fighting against the natural, though very FARKED state of the food cycle? I made myself feel better for evening up the score a little – but, to what end? Am I going to make right all the farked up things in the world that god, in his infinite stupidity created?
Nah.
Life is full of things that don’t make any sense. The only theory that makes any sense is that this life means nothing at all. All that happens here means not a thing. Of course, humankind being ignorant of that truth – if it exists, means that we don’t understand what the hell is going on here – but, no matter. Whatever created this mess wanted it that way.
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