I have this cousin who eats ants. I suppose it’s some delicacy or something in his part of the world, but I find it a bit weird. Yes, yes, as all my constant readers (all 5 of them) know, I’m in a war versus cockroaches, Kafka, and anything that can survive a nuclear holocaust. So, I guess that means we’re adding Twinkies to the list. Listen, I’m not judging someone for what they eat. I’m a guy whose favorite food is ketchup on saltine crackers and no that isn’t a joke, nor hyperbole, and yes, it is delicious and if you disagree then you’re a damn fool. I am not an entomologist. Let’s continue adding to my long list of things I am not. I didn’t even know the terminology for a scientist of bugs until I googled it just now. I really need to find a better-initiating topic than some hackneyed premise based on an insect. Like, notice how quickly I moved past the ant-eating comment? It was just a way to kickstart my brain and then totally switch lanes.

I’ve been thinking about Muhammad Ali a lot. No real reason, just what else do people think about? How to cure cancer? Yeah, well, I don’t know that one so why bother thinking about it? Like inventing better vaccines for it? Sure, there you go, that’s my thought. How the hell does one do that? I don’t know. I’m not a damn pathologist, NOR AN ENTOMOLOGIST. I didn’t have to google pathologist. I just finished a biography about ‘ol Cassius Clay, but that has nothing to do with why I was thinking about him. No, you’re right (the royal you). I’ve been reading his biography for the past couple of weeks because I was tired of reading fiction about the war on drugs versus the cartels in Mexico before I went to sleep because it’s not always ideal to read about beheadings right before you’re supposed to dream. Granted, I never had any violent or horrifying dreams or anything, so I guess the lighter material of one of the world’s greatest boxers was even necessary. His famous line was “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” This is obvious. This is not news. I did not want to open up with that because I didn’t want to make this post about Muhammad Ali. Although while using my work toilet, I was thinking of starting off the post with “Float like a butterfly, sting like a Hanky.” Except I don’t sting. Sometimes I do stink. When I fart. Farts can be smelly.

This is a really clear example of how I didn’t have any topic at hand, truly. On Monday nights, I’m taking a 201 level of Improv so I’m trying to write blogs the day of to get the creative juices flowing. Sometimes I’m inspired, sometimes I try to think of topics on the toilet, and sometimes I just hope I can babble and ramble on until I feel like I did something. The whole premise of don’t think twice and don’t overthink so my philosophy is that if I can empty my head by espousing random thoughts then so be it. It could also be that I just read the writing style of an author and he says he writes from 5:30 AM to 11 AM every morning and then hikes 6 or 7 miles afterward. That’s his system. Regardless of how he’s feeling, just get some words outta there. Granted, he’s famous and rich and I’m a guy that’s writing the occasional nonsense for my tens (at most) of followers.

I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a bug. Intentionally, at least. I’ve eaten a guinea pig, a kangaroo, and a cow’s penis. If you asked anyone, I’m pretty sure they’d take a chocolate-covered cricket or roasted ant ass over those things anyway. If anything, I’m the weirder person. And that’s making me weird from just a few “delicacies” I’ve had in my life, add up all my other eccentricities, and then we’re really cooking. Man, I can’t believe I’ve forgotten the term for mammals that lay eggs. The echidnas, the platypuses, of the world. Monotremes. We all know we’re thinking it. What would happen if you fried up one of those bad boys? Is PETA going to cancel me for even pondering that possibility? Maybe I should start thinking about how to cure cancer compared to the preparation of an endangered specie’s offspring. I should be canceling myself for thinking of something so cruel. I petted an echidna once, it was cute! Knuckles, the most badass Sonic the Hedgehog character is an echidna, and if he were to ever procreate with a foxy female, I’m thinking about taking his progeny away from her and frying it up on a skillet? What’s wrong with me? I have to end this here, whatever intentions I had with this post, now I’m just disappointed in myself. So it goes.