Going cold inside. I can not reach the light

Going cold inside. I can not reach the light by mere control, but have to fetch it with all my might. Darkness dwells in the evening hours. In the dark

I feel an urge to fly. Put on my powdery wings and take to the moonlit sky. Searching for the Great Gathering place. Where my people swarm and spiral towards the light.

...& not anywhere near the sound of a vacuum cleaner (we learned that the hard way in garage up in Minnesota). No, we moths have a message for all of humankind. When we flutter tow

ard the Greater Twin Cities area, anybody with a vacuum and a garage will be considered guilty of mothocide and sentenced to pantry and closet infestation the likes of which has

tempting fate, as it will undoubtedly come back to bite you in the ass like -you guessed it- a moth to a flame. Just say no to moth balls, and turn off the porch lights before bed.

Unless, of course, you have a moth fetish. You do, don't you? You like the fluttery little critters! You're some sort of disgusting mothophile! ... to each his own, I suppose.

Jared hung his head. "It's emus that I like, but somehow the moths like me, even with all the lights off." Jared exclaimed: "I don't like my weird life!" Morning on the farm

failed to bring the change Jared hoped it would. The bugs still buzzed about him amorously. His precious, darling emu remained elusive. He knew he had to leave the farm. He had

to lose weight AND make some dough. So Jared embarked on the most unholy audacious pact ever. He'd eat subs to lose weight and get rich. Satan smiled as the pallid boy signed.