Suicide lamps and crunchy bodies

My co-worker, Alan, just told me a story that is both so disgusting and so true to the south.

On balmy spring and summer nighs in Selma, Ala., millions of flys swarm to the street lamps in town and die. Left on the sidewalks are thick, crunchy blankets of carcasses. After the build-up, firefighters break out the shovels to plow away the bodies, like a New Englander shoveling snow after a nor'easter.

Here in Columbus, you can't take a step outside during the summer without witnessing the scurrying of the roaches. It's sort of like the running of the bulls in Pamplona, only we are the bulls and the roaches are us. Could there be hidden a deeper universal meaning here? Think about it.

xoxoL