Today, I was Biking.

And no joke, a wasp flew in my mouth. But I didn't know it was a wasp until after. I was biking along, and it had been a long day. So I let loose an audible monster-yawn to let my neighborhood exactly how tired I was. (Yes, they need to know). Unfortunately, the winds caught this bug just right, and he flew into my mouth, storming around, and probably not enjoying the small space and relatively smelly atmosphere.


The best part was my reaction seen from afar by an old lady walking her dog:


YAWWWWWWNNNNN-----ahhckckckkckopppfffpfppftttt ---toooey!

I ziggzagged across the road, coughing and spluttering, and she had no idea why. Then she saw me spit something, shake my head, and carry on my way.

Or maybe the perspective of the cutish girl getting out of her car was more memorable. Just as I had finished gargling the still unknown bug, the girl opened her door and got out of her car. Timed quite perfectly, she probably saw me casually spit as I passed by. But it was unpolitely close to her, and she looked down to see a dead wasp hit the ground. No doubt she went inside to tell her housemates about this hardcore biker who spits wasps. who spits wasps, after all? Hard core bikers, I guess.

But I'll have you know, there was nothing hard core about this. Wasps taste TERRIBLE! Bitter, actually. Bitter like Scrooge on Christmas Eve. Bitter like Josh on a Camel in Morocco:


I know, right?


I'm just glad it didn't sting my tongue or anything.

Then I'd have to bite back.