Wednesday, July 30, 2008

I am an insect and I must confess I'm very proud of that...

Here is the most disgusting product warning I believe I've ever read. It has not been corrected for spelling or grammar:

"Do not eat the culture media as it contains all natural ingredients it has not been kept refrigerated and may cause illness in humans if consumed plus the uncooked yeast used can cause sever bloating and gastric pains."

My sister in law recently purchased the product for which this warning was written. It is a plastic tub crawling with wingless fruit flies. The "culture media" refers to the light tannish goopy environment which I am assuming provides both home and nourishment to the fruit fly community. How any person on earth, even the most severely and tragically retarded, could look at this container and think, "I will eat this" is so far past my comprehension it gives me a headache to contemplate it. But I recognize the need to put warnings on virtually everything sold in this country considering our society's litigious nature. After all, this is America. If your vacuum doesn't include the explicit warning "Do not have sex with me," you should be able to sue Hoover for millions when your penis gets stuck in the hose causing permanent scaring from second degree burns. So I guess it carries over that if your "waste not, want not" philosophy is so rigid that you just can't waste good yeast – even unrefrigerated yeast that fruit flies have been living in – well, damn it, you are owed a monetary reward for your "sever bloating and gastric pains" if it wasn't made clear by the company that this would be the consequence of your actions. It's about freedom.

The fruit flies were purchased in conjunction with three baby praying mantis' (manti?). These were delivered to the house last week via Priority Mail. I came home from work and was greeted with, "Guess what Stacy got in the mail?" as my sister held up two small boxes. She then opened the first box and took out the fruit fly container. I assumed that whatever Stacy had ordered (some sort of bread mix?) this could not be the condition she expected to receive her wares in. "This is food," D'Anne told me, "for these guys." She then opened the second box and took out a little solo cup with a lid – the kind you get your dressing in when you order it on the side – which held a little baby praying mantis. "Stacy ordered these as pets for her classroom. She mentioned they might come today, but I have no instructions and have no idea what to do with them. I told her they're here and to come home immediately." D'Anne is no insect fan.

Since their sole purpose is to be praying mantis food, feeding time for the fruit fly community must be akin to a random, chaotic, large-scale mass kidnapping by an enormous "human creature." One minute you're playing racquetball at the fruit fly community center, and the next thing you know, the lid comes off your city and a giant hand starts plucking your neighbors off – seemingly at random – one by one. Where they go, you have no idea, but despite the nice amenities, after the second attack it is getting hard to relax at Shady Yeast. There are rumors sure, but nothing has been substantiated. There's an asinine theory that the abducted flies are being transplanted in groups of about 20 into a new community that is a little smaller and less yeasty than their homeland, and that this new contained environment also includes a "predator" who then hunts the captives for sport and food. Although the theory has gained some traction, many of the flies dismiss it as "liberal propaganda." "Sure," they say, "and next you're going to tell me it's all part of an inside job and our government knows about it. I mean, why would a human creature want to help a predator insect creature? That doesn't make any sense – there's just no motive!"

Despite the lack of information and a heightened sense of anxiety and suspicion, the flies do their best to go about their daily activities at the urging of their leader. "They can't stop our flying or stop our buying - and if we let them, then the giant handed terrorists have won." It was then pointed out to the fruit fly president that they were a wingless breed and therefore could not fly to begin with. Unfortunately at that exact moment, the human hand struck again and the president fly was one of the citizens to disappear. The vice-fly was hurriedly sworn in, and as his first official act of office told the assembled throng to "go fuck themselves" and then turned and shot his elderly fly-friend in the face.

Thank goodness fruit files have a 20 to 30 day life span and their new political situation, though brutish, will be short.

1 comment:

D'Anne Witkowski said...

You should take a picture of the yeast bucket and post it. Though, truth be told, it looks a lot different now, what with the proliferation of all the dead fruit flies and all. It's pretty fascinating to watch Sam (the only mantid that remains alive) nab those little fuckers and suck out their guts, though.

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