Here cicada, there cicada, everywhere cicada cicada

Kevin Cowherd

YOU PEOPLE who haven't seen these things, you have no idea what you're in for.

You're thinking: Cicadas, big deal.

You're thinking: C'mon, a few bugs flying around the yard - how bad can it be?

You're thinking: Worse comes to worst, I'll spray some Raid and light a citronella candle and they'll go away.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

I'm sorry. I don't mean to laugh. It's just that ... well, you people are so naive.

First, let's dispense with the fairy-tale scenarios, OK?

Here's how it's going to go down in about three weeks, when these 17-year cicadas start popping out of the ground:

You go to bed one night. But before you do, you steal a last glance out the window at your back yard. It's bathed in moonlight. It's quiet. It's peaceful. Everything is fine.

Then you wake up the next day. You look out the window. And suddenly it's like MTV's Cicada Spring Break outside.

Your whole yard is swarming with cicadas, cicadas that are laughing, cracking beers, cranking the stereo, throwing each other in the pool, doing cannonballs off the high dive.

You're like: "What the ...?"

So you go outside to investigate.

You open the screen door and about 60 of 'em barge in, start rummaging through your fridge, fighting over the remote in the family room, asking to use your bathroom.

Pretty soon, the noise level outside is incredible.

Right now you're thinking: Well, I've heard cicadas make noise. What is it, a little buzzing or something?

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

A little buzzing?!

I'm sorry. I said I wouldn't laugh. But let me ask you something. Where are you from, Lollipop Land?


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