The Breeding Ground for Armageddon

   I have grown accustomed to spending most of my time in my home kennel. Agoraphobia blah blah blah. Lately, however, I have been trapped not by the horrors I read about in my Abnormal Psychology textbooks, but the ones you might see in, say,  Abnormal Entomology 401.
   Bugs enjoy the water. I live by the water, because I enjoy it too. We have bonded over the common love of our lake, and developed a cautious, but respectful, mutual tolerance of each other. In fact, they love me and my fellow humans, because we provide them with blood to suck, which is the only thing they like more than water, because it's like their version of a Green Smoothie. Vitamins, protein, and just a dash of salt. Or, in my case several tablespoons, because I eat a lot of pickles.
    Historically, I have allowed bugs to come to my outdoor parties because I don't want to hurt their feelings, and cause them to lash out at me by gnawing on my body as I sleep. Bugs are like hormonal junior high students when you upset them. (Fortunately without the braces and headgear. That would be bad news when they began biting.) However, I have noticed an alarming change in our bug demographic. They have mutated into something resembling Amazonian horse-insect crossbreeds. They are enormous, and I no longer welcome them at my picnics because they would eat all the food. And probably my dog, because she is barely over a hundred pounds and vulnerable. Obviously as a form of retribution, spiders have begun spinning webs across our doorway so we cannot leave our house. Huge spiders spin huge webs. "What has caused this alarming trend in bug size?" you might wonder. Of course you have not really wondered that, because you have better things to be contemplating, but I do not often leave the house, so I have time to consider pretty much everything.
   I have used my paranoia and lack of education to develop what I believe to be a viable theory. I suspect Utah Lake is essentially an industrial waste drum, doubling as a flower planter. Lovely, but lethal. Kind of like the Lolita of Lakes. I see those cheerful factories puff away on the shore, and wonder why the developers wasted prime lakeshore real estate on concrete trash receptacles. Why don't they put some offices, with some nice picture windows, overlooking that placid water? And, what are those conveyor belts scooting down into the water? I'm kidding, of course. Any belt or anything else that touched that lake would instantly dissolve into a hissing, smoking, burbling mass of... some sort of burbling mass.
   I have no proof that Utah Lake is smelly, green, and produces three-eyed fish due to industrial dumping, and in fact I'm pretty sure this is not the case, as my government reassures me it is not. All I'm saying is, when I take my trash to the "dump," the workers there shovel it onto a train. (I am actually not making that part up. Do any of you have a train station dump like we do? I'd love to hear about it. I am very bored.) And I do not see where that train goes. I think the tracks lead right down into my beloved Utah Lake, and the three-eyed conductor emerges with an additional eye each trip. At night, people say he glows.