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Wasp Town

September 18, 2009

First things first (tautology): I came up with some really prime trash talk today. I wish that either someone would hire me for the rap ghostwriting job I invented or else I was still on speaking terms with my archnemesis so I could make practical use of some of the material I compose while riding the C-Train to an academic lecture.

You such a sponge, you come from phylum porifera.
You couldn’t even get a date from phoenix dactylifera.
So stupid that a calendar won’t give you a date,
So dateless that a world without time could relate,
So sexless that a virgin seems a slut by comparison,
So ugly your own mother finds your photographs embarrassin’,
So old that your eighties hair’s the only thing that dates you,
Your own hand’s on strike, it don’t wanna masturbate you…

Does Calgary have freestyle throwdowns? Would the crowd be able to see past my fragile elf maiden appearance to the gangsta bitch beneath? Anyone have any thoughts on this? Probably not. Anyway, as I returned to my apartment this evening, ever so slightly rummed, I took the time out of my nonexistent schedule to check out the progress of Wasp Town, which is pretty much my new favourite thing despite how many times I’ve almost been stung and/or had a wasp perilously close to my groin in the past few weeks.

Three months ago, Wasp Town was just a small hole in the wall of my building. One day on my way home from work I noticed a wasp emerging from the hole. I named him Vespasian. The next day, two wasps crawled from the hole. I didn’t name them because I’d used up the only good pun the day before. Pretty soon it was a party. Wasps everywhere, like flying stinging confetti. It was fantastic. I showed the landlord next time I ran into him. He responded by seeming totally mystified that I’d pointed out the infestation, then promptly doing absolutely nothing about it. So the other day I made a small sign reading “Wasp Town” and taped it above the hole. It was gone today (but, happily, the wasps were not). I’m going to make one that says “New Wasp Town” and put it up tomorrow. The way I see it, I did my civic duty by pointing out the situation to the landlord, and now it’s my prerogative to milk as much entertainment out of it as I can. This is the kind of reasoning that earned me an MA in philosophy. (Note to self: “earned” in quotation marks? Would that have been funnier? Figure out why or why not and edit accordingly if necessary.)

Wasps are like a million thousand zillion tiny yellow and black Rodney Dangerfields. They get no respect. Aristophanes wrote a play called The Wasps, but needless to say, that play didn’t do wasps any favours, and neither does the derogatory acronym that has gained popularity in modern America. But ever since Virgil’s Georgics and that one simile in the Aeneid that we’re all tired of people writing academic papers about, it’s been all bees this and bees that. Bees get all the props. They work as a team, they communicate with each other, blah blah blah. But aside from honeymaking, wasps do almost all the same shit bees do – plus they can sting you repeatedly at no cost to themselves! The sting of a bee has long been considered a noble self-sacrifice. When a person commits suicide everyone gets really mad and starts tossing out words like “cowardly” and “selfish” – but when a bee does it it’s regarded as a courageous gesture. Bees are the suicide bombers of the animal kingdom, yet we shower them with reverence. Wasps, meanwhile, are criticized for their ability to sting without incurring lethal repercussions, as if they should feel guilty for being better designed.

The best thing about Wasp Town is how the whole community uses the elaborate garden next door for sustenance, which really pisses off the beotch who lives there. I’ve seen her swatting at them and that always puts a smirk on my face. Her husband is a sweetheart – he always says hello, and he loves cats – but she is one straight-up asshole. Always complaining and whining and beaking people off on a cordless phone, which she always brings outside so everyone can hear the conversations. I hope she gets stung before the month is out.

Anyone with any sense would way rather be a wasp. Way fucking rather. Up with vespiculture. I’m cheering for the inhabitants of Wasp Town. I hope they get firmly entrenched in the wall so they can reuse their current nest next year. It’s a good spot – prime real estate right beside the laundry room. Close to the dryer, which will provide welcome heat on inclement nights. If I move in December, I’m going to make sure someone keeps an eye on the situation come spring. And I can only hope that wherever I end up in Vancouver, I’ll come across an equally cool infestation toward which to direct my affection. No millipedes or spiders need apply…

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