The Moth.

Now first off, let me make a distinction here. When I refer to a moth from here on I don't refer to those beautiful moths you see pictures of that live in the jungle. None of us live there so I'm not talking about those moths (those ones aren't actually moths anyway, they are part bird). I'm referring to the kind of moths that live in our houses. Those singularly useless creatures that are attracted to bright lights, are always a dull brown colour and act like retarded butterflies.

They have no purpose. At all. I am sure there will be several learned stumblers that could point out some interesting fact or other regarding the humble moth yet I would respectfully call them all liars. I appreciate your "knowledge" in this field is greatly advanced when compared to mine but in this instance I shall not pander to "fact". Moths are deserving of fuck all. In fact, less than fuck all. They flap away at a wall for hours on end only after tiring of my head. Previously finding it the most interesting place in the entire world, ever. This will maybe go on for a day or two at most until they eventually die and fall onto my book shelf and get crispy.

When moths go to the cinema and watch a hero movie, the star of the show is always a pigeon. Moths aspire to the heady heights of pigeonhood as they intrinsically recognise the only creature on the planet to hold a higher status in the category of "World's Biggest Cunt".

When moths grow up they want to hang around in parks and cities eating shit from the floor while cooing and having gangrenous legs that spread disease. Instead of flapping around uncontrollably with natures second worst navigation system (after Daddy Long Legs), having no mouth and generally making a fucking nuisance of themselves.

Not much of a jump to be honest.

If I had my way, all future generations of both moths and pigeons would view me as their own Personal Hitler