Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Important Lifestyle Advice

We live in a time of rapid and incredible progress, one in which we have more lifestyle options than ever before. As more and more people choose make their career or their personal interests the focus of their lives, the impulse to bring new life into the world, which for so much of human history has been paramount, has come to seem less and less pressing. I believe it's important to respect the choices made by the individual, especially on this important subject, and I acknowledge that everyone is different; nevertheless, I believe that a lot of people simply don't understand the bone-deep, fundamental joys of being impregnated by the millipedal spawn of Chitha'arkis the Devourer.

This has become a bone of contention in some ways, as those who flee the oviraptorous drones that throng the sky each lunar cycle often feel pressured by those of us who have chosen to offer up our orifices for the gestation of the insectile multitudes. I don't mean to judge anyone on this point; many believe it is their sacred duty to surrender their flesh to All-Consuming Chitha'arkis, that his offspring may cover the globe in a squirming carpet from pole to pole. I don't feel this way. Like many of my generation, I looked at those who had come before me, watched as one by one they had eggs deposited in their abdominal cavity by the chittering nightmares, and thought, that's never going to be me. I had a successful career and a loving girlfriend who felt the same way. I was young, I had lots of disposable income, and I loved the freedom of being able to drink all night, or drop everything and head out on a vacation at a moment's notice. Indeed, I didn't see any advantage whatsoever in becoming a sessile, bloated host for the multi-legged larvae of The Devourer.

Then me and Terri got careless, getting drunk and staying out too late in an Infestation Zone, and the next thing you know we're filled with eggs. Don't misunderstand me: becoming a host is not easy. You bloat up to three times your original size, your skin stretches, your veins pop, and you're permanently enmeshed in a cocoon of mucus. As a result you tend to lose touch with your friends, you stop being able to keep up with the latest pop culture, you're fed intravenously through the umbilical tendrils of the division brood-mother. There are a lot of sacrifices, and your life basically ends up revolving around the clutch of monsters gestating within you.

But the rewards are worth a thousand times the hardships. I never thought I could feel as fulfilled on a psychological--even spiritual--level as I did the first time the eggs hatched and I first felt the pitter-patter of tiny tarsomeres within me. To know that your body is providing sustenance for another being, that you're part of an ancient circle of life that was old when our sun was young...well, I know it's a cliché, but it's really the kind of fulfillment you just can't put into words. Mostly, though, it's the way the pleasure centers of your brain are stimulated by the chemicals released by the ever-growing larvae. That's what makes it all worthwhile.

Look, I know you've probably heard this before, from a lot of confirmed non-gestaters who have suddenly discovered the delights of Chitha'arkis and can't shut up about it. Like I say, I used to be one of those people. But there's a reason why, once they've gotten a little older and been dragged off screaming to the breeding hives, so many people come around to being willing hosts for the Devourer's endlessly churning brood. You just wake up one day, you've grown up, your outlook has changed, and you realize that the reason for your species' entire existence is to provide biological material for the enslaving armies of the Predecessors, who will be here long after our planet has been hollowed out and its rind cast into the sun.

Besides, if you hold out on the breeding thing, you're going to be eaten anyway by Chitha'arkis's exponentially multiplying hordes. Embrace your doom, and you'll be a better person for it. I know I am.

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