Why do you even have a patriarchy-blaming blog, Twisty, if you’re just gonna go AWOL and post pictures of skinks and katydids every 17.6 days?
Well, here’s the sitch. Brace yourself, because it sucks the bag.
It’s cricket season. Cricket season and blaming season cannot coexist.
Why the flarb not, you ask?
The reason is this: every night at about 2:47 AM some benighted cricket infests the bunkhouse in some cranny 6 inches from my ear and commences its chirpy oratorio. No spinster aunt on earth can sleep through that skin-crawling racket, so out of the TempurPedic I flop. At which point I either eat a tub of Cool Whip or strap on the point-and-shoot and saunter out to see what’s doin’ down at the old Orthoptera Compound. With the result that I get no sleep. My obstreperal lobe shrinks to the size of a frog egg. I am hurled into a moral darkness. Blaming is impossible under these circumstances.
Most people, when they are hurled into a moral darkness by unrelenting cricket-induced insomnia, go out and have a fuckin good time. They join a motorcycle gang, get a new tattoo, and do awesome drugs.
But all I have to show for it are 476 pictures of the huge katydid living on my drainpipe.
And the skink in the carport.
Would you believe that the katydid was bigger than the skink?