Piss Off Flying Ants And Take Your Mid Air Orgy Elsewhere!

I can safely say that this day is the worst day of my year. Every year, without fail. It's always the same. One minute I am enjoying the lovely weather outside on a sunny summers day and the next I notice them, larger than usual, crawling around on the floor and flying around with no apparent purpose. I am of course talking about Flying Ants, those horrid little creatures that plague us on an annual basis.

"Am I in the minority in my hatred of these little bastards?"

Am I in the minority in my hatred of these little bastards? Walking through the streets of London this evening, people were casually strolling along looking like they didn't have a care in the world, whilst I was flapping about like a mad man brushing them off me trying to restrain my squeals as they were bumping into my face. 


I did a quick Google search and the flying ants are just the regular black ants you see in gardens and parks, going about their business. 'Lasius Niger' as they are otherwise known. 

Now I don't generally mind an ant, I mean they are so small that even someone like myself, with an aversion to pretty much any insect/creepy-crawly type thing, can just simply ignore them. But not these beasts. They seem to quadruple in size and have a tendency to stick to your hair and fly in your ears. 


Apparently they grow wings so that they can take to the skies and mate with one another in one big orgy. Now I am not a prude but can't these ants just get a bloody room? Do we really need to be party to their sordid little sex games and must they copulate in my hair? My god, they've got me coming over all Daily Mail!

 "I can't think of anyone I would want to shag so badly that I would be willing to die immediately afterwards."

The thing that makes it worse is that the male ones die immediately after they've 'finished', falling from the sky, discarded by the Queens quicker than a News of the World Journalist.


You'd think someone would tell them - these males? I can't think of anyone I would want to shag so badly that I would be willing to die immediately afterwards. Well unless it was Tom Hardy and I was 90 and on my last legs.

As much as I hate them, I do tend to forget about them after a while and it's not until they take to the air that I am horribly reminded of their existence. With all the technology and science that we have in the world though, why-oh-why can't someone warn us? Then I could stock-up on provisions and lock myself away for a day or two until the plague has past.