Hershel was a bug. He had always been a bug and, for all he knew, he would always be a bug. Now I’ve got nothing against bugs mind you. Not unless you count the way they buzz around in your ear, and the way they crawl all over your skin, and how bite you and make you swell all up and itch. But other than all that I’ve got nothing against bugs. And that’s exactly what Hershel was. And he accepted it without a second thought. But Hershel wasn’t your ordinary average run-o-the-mill bug. No sir, Hershel was an important diplomatic bug, and also a family bug with a bug wife and larva of his own. But most importantly, Hershel was a proud bug. He had dignity—a trait very few bugs possess these days.
Hershel was the Head of Security for the United Insects. Every day he dealt with important information concerning the welfare of bugkind. But today was especially important, for Hershel bore information essential not just to the survival of bugs, but to the survival of all earthly creatures small and great. The news had to be delivered personally to the Chairbug so that a plan of action could be devised before it was too late. This was no light matter to handled by a delivery larvae. Hershel knew he must make the journey himself.
Hershel awoke as usual to the bed-rattling vibrations of The Beetles. He looked over at his pregnant wife Marge, smiled and said, “I guess Maggot’s awake.“
Hershel arose, dressed, and sat down to the breakfast of ground oak leaves which Marge had prepared for him (because bugs are sexist too). And when Marge and Maggot begged him not to go Hershel just shook his tiny head and said that he had to do it. He kissed them goodbye and set off on his great adventure.
Now you may, or then again you may not, have noticed that Hershel didn’t brush his teeth that particular morning. Toothbrushing is not a very common practice among bugs you see, as the vast majority of them possess a special gland unbeknownst to modern science which secretes a pasty fluoride solution that is continually rubbed into their tiny teeth by the abrasive backside of their lips. Thus bugs are always brushing their teeth—or at least the ones with lips are. I bring up this fact in order that any uninformed dentists or compulsive tooth-brushers not be needlessly offended.
So began Hershel’s journey.
Realizing that this is supposed to be a short story, I’ll skip the boring parts about the leper colony, Rita’s House of Pain and Pleasure, and how Hershel singlehandedly ushered in the collapse of The Soviet Union and move on to the more interesting stuff.
Hershel’s greatest obstacle was the crossing of The Black Forest. Birds and other nasties were known to roam the premises and Hershel knew that birds and other nasties have a revolting habit of devouring bugs. So he crept cautiously along, carrying only his tiny bug briefcase for protection. Suddenly, a shadow loomed overhead. A bird! Hershel tried to run for cover but the bird landed before him and Hershel knew he was in grave danger.
“Stand back!“ Hershel warned. “I know karate, and six other Japanese words!“
“Ha!” said the bird.
“I have the clap,“ Hershel attempted, “and if you eat me, you’ll have it too!“
“Already got it!“ replied the bird even as it moved in for the kill.
“You asked for it!“ screamed Hershel as he flew with all his might into the bird’s groin (or wherever it is birds keep their family jewels). As the bird grimaced and fell to the ground clutching its pearls Hershel calmly ran like hell.
After weeks of voyaging through desert, swamp, and nuclear wasteland Hershel finally reached The Capitol. The Bughouse was at last in his sight. Hershel was cold, wet and stinky, and he longed for a good meal and a dip in the warm Bughouse pond. He began to make the final leg of his journey across the great Bughouse esplanade.
But suddenly another great shadow fell over him, this one completely blotting out the sky.
Before he knew what was happening Hershel felt the atmosphere compress around him mere moments before he was smashed into two dimensions against the pavement.
“Yuck!” said the snotnose kid, scraping Hershel off the sole of his shoe with a stick. He toddled on in search of more fun.
And within a matter of months, the world was engulfed by a swarm of radioactive space-locusts and all life on earth was destroyed.
THE END
(Moral: Before you go stepping on someone, make DAMN sure they’re nobody important.)
© 2023 Randy Bone
