Sunday 13 July 2014

Sunday of the Octave of Flying Ants

It is wonderful to mark Flying Ants' Week.

The male flying ants, having unexpectedly developed wings, head off into the sky. Very lucky ones get to mate with a queen - then all the males, crashing exhausted to the ground, die. For most, their life has been utterly futile. Even the ones that get lucky will die without seeing the next generation.

And on top of that, everybody hates you. It's not much of a life, being a male ant.

In solidarity with them, Burton Dasset is currently up on the launch pad with fake wings. In a few moments somebody will push him off. I do wish he wouldn't whimper like that.


  1. Couldn't you just spray him with something?

  2. I have to admit, having had a kitchen-full of flying ants a few years ago, I'd much prefer an appearance by Burton. He could have hot, sweet tea and squashed-fly biscuits.


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