.

OH!

Haha!

Bug poles!

I love these!

They’re several around my house.

Each season, I’ll hammer in a new pole.

Nothing brings me more joy than to watch the bugs climb the pole!

Gazing at their wriggling little bodies fills me with so much delight that I can’t help but giggle like a boy!

My hose is always running, always flooding my small patch of lawn, and the worms and beetles and centipedes and caterpillars all flee to my bug poles for safety, for comfort, for my pleasure.

I strip off my clothes and lay there in the wet, soggy, mud and grass and feel them scuttle and climb and use my body, clinging, gripping, mmm yes, those little feet, those little hairs, feel so ticklish, so devilishly ticklish, and I guide them to their poles, my bug poles, where they are safe.

My body, naked and raw, bleeding from bites, scabby from the scratching, is the land, is the earth, the flooded home of so many bugs, too damp, too wet, too squishy for them to live their lives, lay their eggs, and so I build the poles, I drive the poles deep, so deep, into the muddy ground, soft and heavy ground, and I force the bugs, I do, I force them, for my own pleasure, to take to the poles for comfort, they squabble and I love the carnage.

I clap with glees, my swollen, waterlogged hands splattering mud and muck and root and stem, as the bugs, angry now as they’re driven from the their homes, their peaceful burrows, by my flooding, for I am their god, that wrathful thing with power beyond that which they can ever hope to have, hope to be, and I build the bug poles for them to fight, struggle for survival, turn against progeny and kin, and I see them, love them, laughing am I with an open mouth of dirt and grime, when I see them tear into each other, sever the limbs, spill their guts on my bug poles, and their misery, so rare for a bug to feel it like this, feeds me, literally feeds me because I eat the losers, eat the fallen, and feel them gnash between my grounded, grimy teeth!!

The sting and fight and spray and try to flee, but I am too much, too powerful, to let them simply be own their merry ways because in my yard, my kingdom, their realm of torture and pain, there is no escape from the flooding, the constant flooding rising higher, flowing faster, flowing colder, and my body feels no pain despite my shivering as I wallow in the freezing muck, laughing and eating and chewing and spitting these bugs, some of which are still alive, though mortally wounded as I shove them into my gaping mouth by the fistful mud and grass and roots and all, and the fight me, bite me, sting and spray their poisons and venoms in feeble attempts to stop my rotting teeth from grinding them into a fine bug paste to nourish my belly and more importantly my ego for there is no greater high than being such a supreme being to these pathetic, idiot bugs who are so simple minded as to not even realize how much larger their world is and I laugh and them, at their idiocy, at their confusion and misguided anger towards each other as the fight to their lives, their meaningless lives, on my bug poles, so dance for me you repugnant freaks, because I’m not finished, not by a long shot, watching your struggle, watching you fight for a supposed purpose!!

So what say you now bugs, disgusting pitiful things, as I tear down the bug poles, the mighty bug poles you once to be a bastion of safety, a sanctuary from my flooding, my terrible flooding that ruined your homes, your young, your eggs, your lives, and I destroy these wooden towers by barging my shoulder into them into my raw and bleeding with my muscles torn and bones strained and fractured, and the bugs, these woeful swarms, try to escape the bug pole as it collapses slowly into the cold, murky waters where their bodies, tender and crunchy bodies, float helplessly for their were not built, not divinely designed to swim in such a torrent, and my raw hands scoop up the weakest swimmers and pour them down my huge, grinning mouth, my teeth already full of bugs before, of guts long past, rotting and stinking and moist, so moist from the water and my hot, humid breathe from my laughing and wheezing and crying with delight and pleasure and passion for this torture, this deserved torture of these horrid bugs, despicable things, and let them take to my body because now I am the bug pole, the human bug pole and I let them climb, ascend if you can you worthless things, and I sense their fear, their panic, as the scuttle and scramble up my naked body, risen out of the water now I have, and they try their wrath on my, my skin, my already broken and open skin with sores and scabs and legions, as the bite and tear into my flesh in a futile effort to bring down their scornful God, but to no avail, so keep climbing, keep trying if you can, if you have the will, and I feel their legs, all their tiny legs across my body, vibrating me so gently, so pleasurably, with the centipedes digging in and killing their brethren indiscriminately and yes, I hoped, I hoped it would be them in the end, it would be the centipedes for me to feast on as the dominant bug in my yard and the bug poles brought out the best in them, the monster in them, opened them to be eaten alive and consumed by their God!!