Things That Suck

Dear KK,

Today I shall tell you about things that suck.  Wait a minute, that sounds very vague doesn’t it. This blog could either get very pornographic or depressing, or both (which isn’t uncommon) quickly or it could be referencing the snotsucker letter. It’s not. I’m actually talking about mosquitoes and ticks. Some people believe that a god or goddess created all the living creatures on this earth and some people believe that all the living creatures on this earth evolved. People like me don’t happen to care because whether they were created supernaturally, naturally, or in a lab, mosquitoes and ticks suck – both figuratively and literally and if some deity is responsible for them, they suck too.

People (like me sometimes when I’m having a hippy moment) will tell you that all animals have their place in nature and that even mosquitoes and ticks are important because they provide food for other creatures. I ate a mosquito recently.  In fact, I eat a lot of mosquitoes. That’s because I live in a place where, sometimes, you cannot breathe without inhaling or swallowing a mosquito. All I can think about as I feel a mosquito stuck in my throat is who or what’s blood have I ingested along with that mosquito.  For all I know, it sucked the blood of a rat, or, even worse our redneck neighbours, before finding itself trapped in my throat, clinging to the sides with its skinny legs while I cough and swallow frantically at the same tie to dislodge it.

Please don’t get me wrong. I am not squeamish about eating insects. Not in the slightest. In fact, I am far more disturbed by them eating me, which both mosquitoes and ticks do. I eat insects regularly. Not, as you might think, because I’m ravenously hungry – possibly because of all the blood I’m losing to mosquitoes and ticks – but, because insects find their way into much of the food we purchase. We have bugs in our flour, in our pasta and in our rice. Sometimes we can skim the bugs off of the top of the water when we boil pasta and rice, but for the most part, we just philosophically accept the bugs as added protein.

So, getting back to our mosquitoes and ticks. The ticks are under control now. That’s one of the reasons we have chickens. Before that, we would have to search our bed for ticks and through the night one or the other of us would wake the other shouting ‘Shit, there’s a tick on my arsehole’ or ‘Bloody hell, there’s a tick on my tit’.  Those were the days.  Since having chickens, we haven’t had a tick in the house.  We have badass chickens. Meet Lilith (and yes she’s meant to have no feathers on her neck because badass chickens roll that way).

281015 badass chicken

As for mosquitoes, that’s a whole other ballgame. A friend of mine once described large mosquitoes where he lived as ‘big enough to rape a turkey flat footed’. Fortunately, ours aren’t large, but I think what’s worse is that they are plague like in numbers. So, they may not be able to rape a turkey, but they could quite possibly carry it away and hold it for ransom. We have so many mosquitoes here right now that it becomes impossible to perform very basic functions like locking the gate, or closing the chicken coop without a huge amount of drama and liberal doses of chemicals that make your tongue numb.

Thank evolution, gods, goddesses or whichever merciful combination of factors that resulted in ‘chemicals’. The same people who tell you that mosquitoes and ticks are important are likely to also tell you that ‘chemicals’ are bad. Not even in my hippiest moment, will you hear that from me. Not only do I believe strongly in improving my life through chemicals, but I can let you in on a little secret. (spoken in a very hushed voice) You. Are. Made. Of. Chemicals. OK, fair enough, not the sort of chemicals I’m currently enamoured with, but definitely chemicals.

Please let me tell you about my favourite superhero. His name is Malathion Man and he comes in the evening in his super truck to spray us with magic potions that render mosquitoes dead.  Well not the adult one, but he is definitely planned parenthood for mosquitoes and we love him for it. You won’t see us protesting in front of his truck against mosquito abortions.  Oh no. When we hear his truck and the joyous sound of the pesticides pouring from his spray guns, we cheer and celebrate and open our windows to let the luscious toxic mist into our home. Even when I’m stuck on the road on my bicycle and his truck passes me, scenting me with his delicious juices, I don’t think about its cancer causing possibilities, I think of my liberation from the evil, tyrranical rule of mosquitoes and the possibility of making it through another year without catching Dengue Fever or, even worse, Chikungunya – a disease so terrible they’ve made it impossible to pronounce.

Time for Badass Auntie’s wisdom of the day. There is something to be said for the phrase ‘the lesser of two evils’. Choose your evils carefully, especially if they are difficult to pronounce. It’s nearly election time in the USA. There is not better time to be taking this wisdom into consideration.

Much love from your Badass Auntie

Dear CK,

I have no idea if you’re reading my letters to your brother, but if you are, you’ll know that we had a little talk about parasites. Not all parasites and not human parasites, although I’m sure I will write one or both of you letters about those too. At only one week of age, I don’t wish to burden you with nightmares of being carried away in your sleep by flying monsters that will suck your blood. Those stories are much better when you’re adolescent and squirmingly hormonal. In fact, I’ll buy you a set of Twilight to fulfill those needs.

I shall, instead, speak to you about hitting. I think it matches well with mosquitoes because when you have a mosquito on your nose, hitting it is not wise.  As a Badass Auntie, I feel that I am in a position to identify things that are truly badass and things that are just ass and anyone who hits someone who can’t hit them back just as hard is just ass; dirty, unwashed, flabby, flappy, stinky ass. It amazes me how many people justify hitting children. The favourite, completely idiotic, phrase they use is ‘I got a whipping when I was a kid and it didn’t do me any harm.’  Well, I tell you what, in a classic case of badass one upmanship – I took heroin when I was a kid and it didn’t do me any harm either.  So fuck you, you bullies.

Just because we survive despite something rather than thrive because of it, does not make it worthwhile. I could provide you with a list of things that I did as a kid such as having unprotected sex, using intravenous drugs, falling asleep drunk in doorways, driving at high speed over London Bridge and crashing into the bottom of Big Ben (OK, the last one was a lie, but it sounds like a really bad ass thing to do) and even working at Buckingham Palace (yes, I did indeed for a very short time work at the Civil Service Riding Club at Buckingham Palace) and despite doing all of these things, I’m fine. I’m more than fine. I’m badass.  But, would I advise that others do these things?  Fuck no.  I would sound like a complete toss hat if I did that.

Yet a bunch of self appointed ‘experts’ – and remember that I mentioned ‘experts’ previously – who claim expertise on the basis that they were hit as children wish to ensure that all progeny for ever more shall be hit by their parents. Because I’m sure that prisons are full of people who were never hit by their parents.  Honestly.  There is nothing badass about hitting children.

If an adult is so incompetent and inadequate that the only way they can communicate their wishes to children in their life is by hitting them, they need to be removed from evolution. So, either they should hit their kids so hard that they can’t live long enough to pass on the cycle of violence or they should just stop doing it. The problem is that they can’t stop doing it if they don’t know anything else. This is why, when they tried to stop teachers from hitting children as discipline in school where I live, the teachers went on strike. Not because they are all child beating bastards, though I’m sure some of them were.  No, but because they had been left completely unprepared with alternative tools for disciplining children in the classroom because the cycle of violence was institutionalised and entrenched. Now that is scary.

So, little one, please allow your Badass Auntie to share her wisdom with you today. People who love you should never hit you. Grown ups should never hit you. If a grown up ever hits you, you are to let your Badass Auntie know because I can hit back and let it be known from hence forth that as you are the next generation of female carrying my bloodline I will happily go to hell and back and even to jail to get your back at any time. Ever.  So if any fucker ever gives you any shit, just tell him this ‘Some fucker gave me shit last year. I told my Badass Auntie. He is not able to give anyone shit anymore. In fact he can’t even have a shit after having to have my Badass Auntie’s foot surgically removed from his arse.’  I just wanted you to have this information early.

Much love from your Badass Auntie



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