Here at The SpittingLlamas Studio’s, we get little time for lunch. So I’ve been driving to the park next door to eat my brown-bagged goodness.

I put the windows down, pop the hatch on my Jeep Cherokee and I sit in the back, legs stretched out as I read a magazine. Today’s flavor was Scientific American which had just arrived in my mailbox yesterday.

Just as I was there about 5 minutes, and thinking about how relaxing it is as I got deeper in an article about how stars die, I hear…

zzzzzzzzZZZZZTTTTTTTT!

I got hit in the face by a cicada. So I spent the rest of the damn time trying to get him out of my Jeep, which proved to be harder than I thought. The little winged ugliness got nestled down in some programming books I had on the floor.

I can only guess that he wanted to stay in there. With all four windows open wide and the hatch popped, it should have been easy to get out. But no. I guess cicadas aren’t known their intelligence. I’d give him a swat and he’d fly straight up, hit the roof then falls back down to the floor. Repeat about 14 times.

So I think I read about 1 page of my new Scientific American. It was brand new, yet it looks like had been pulled from a recycle bin after having served as my weapon of choice, living through 22 minutes of swatting cicada ass.

From this point forward I’m going to call them Al-Cicada, terror from the underground.