Get Behind Me, Cicadas!

Record numbers of cicadas are descending up the New York tri-state area, in waves reminiscent of the Biblical plagues of Egypt. It has been seventeen years since these droning pests last invaded our peaceful farms and villages, and never before in such force. Of course, apart from the agricultural ravages of their terrible jaws, the hideous cacophony of their mating calls drowns out all other noise.

No more will children be able to enjoy the lilting syncopations of the ice cream truck, nor the pleasant strains of birdsong in spring, nor even the simple joy of intellectual discourse. Whereas once the air was filled with impassioned discussions of the works of James Joyce and Marcel Proust, now all is subsumed under the deafening clicking of the dire insects.

Cicadas are a scourge upon the planet and should be driven forcefully back to whatever infernal pit they first emanated from. Everybody grab a pitchfork and a can of Raid.