Issues that require large banners

It is true that this morning I mistook a fragment of bellybutton lint for an insect. I'm not proud of this misunderstanding, and I'm feeling especially sheepish because when my eyes alighted on the small creature I wheezed in fear and pulled my hand back at an alarming speed. Alas, it was only the beginning of my embarrassment. The bug was small and black, and when I couldn't find its legs I speculated that the brute was deliberately trying to deceive me, pulling its legs under itself to appear like belly-button lint. "Foolish insect," I said aloud, "You've met your match this time." I then took one of my drum sticks and began constructing a simple rhythm on the cushion of the couch we were sharing, hoping my funky vibe would confuse it, forcing it to reveal its hidden legs (1-2-3-4-5-6) and scurry away. Fact: Soulless beasts cannot stand soulful beats. Of course such bravado merely cloaked my own debilitating terror, as I was certainly not this lint/insect's match.

Various scenarios raced through my mind: The bug would suddenly jump at me, biting, scratching and defecating on me until finally burrowing into my left eyeball to lay her eggs. Or she would take off flying and I'd lose track of her. Unbeknown to me, the clever strumpet had long ago made a home out of one of my pillows. From there she would dispatch her hoards of offspring to climb on and in me through the long, cold night. The bolder of the youngsters no doubt showing off by successfully navigating the gates and corridors of my sinus system. Here she would be waving on the threshold of my nostril, skilfully balanced on a long nose hair, only to disappear for a time, then suddenly reappear creeping out of my mouth. Restless dreams would plague me within. A few others, no less bold, but perhaps with no taste for public spectacle, would quietly sneak off behind my face, up the back of my neck and into my ears. No doubt the romantic ambiance of that waxy, dank cavern would encourage ravenous love making, and my dream-scape would be made even more inscrutable by the high-pitched shrieks of enraptured insects.

Woe betide me! But I resolved then and there to take action. My first inclination was to paint a message on a large banner that I would then dangle in front the camouflaged creepy crawler. What an action that would have been! My banner would hang mercilessly for a time, the bug's kaleidoscopic eyes soaking in the hard truths, the hard imperatives. "Bug Action Now! Action Now Bug! Bug! Now! Action! " No doubt that would have been awesome, at once expressing my forthwith intention to act on the problem and my commitment to insectival justice in our time. "413! uh, 350! hmm, 227 bugs per million! Justice against the arthropods!" What an action that would have been. But I wanted to do something more dramatic, something that would haunt my minute adversary for the remainder of her 17 days. I was going on a hunger strike.

At first all went well, 1, 2, 5 minutes passing without so much as a grumble or mumble from my tummy. "Let's do this Erasmus," I thought I heard my tummy say, but I was too focused on my action, too in the game to be certain of the distractions outside it. 7, 8, 11 minutes. It was then that I hit a road block. I was starving! My tummy ceased being a tummy and became a stomach, I was on my last legs, I had lost a lot of weight and was feeling so weak. Should I have kept going, hammering the nail in the coffin that was my action? Should I have martyred myself for the cause? Would my hunger strike have reached proverbial heights, declaring to any and all, "No more bugs!" I'd like to think that it would. I like to think that my bold action would have been noticed by someone, and that they would have said, "There's a guy who really tried to act on the bug problem."

Well, I'll leave such speculation to our future historians because in any case, just a few seconds shy of a full 12 minutes without eating, my hand made a dart for the little insect beside me. "It's full of life-giving protein," I reasoned. No sooner had I grasped the thing then I realized that its armored body was in fact soft and spongy. I dropped it in shock. Took a deep breath and said to myself, "Hang in there old boy, action is required." I picked it up and drew it close to my face. It was then that I realized my error! It was no bug, and something about its shape gave me cause to wonder, "is this of the bounty of my bellybutton?" I brought it to my tongue and realized at once that it contained oily flakes from that umbilical vestige. What folly! "Get back in there, you devious ball of lint, lest I am stirred to unleash yet another devastating action upon you!"