To the esteemed, if somewhat deafening, Grand Council of Brood X, XVII, and XIII Cicadas, and by extension, your apparently millennia-old Ancestral Public Relations Firm, I write to you today with a heart heavy with concern, and ears ringing with what can only be described as a profound existential confusion. We, the humble bipeds sharing your temporary abode, have long respected your mysterious emergence, your collective hum, your brief, vibrant life cycles before receding into the earth's patient embrace. It has always been a rather dignified affair, if a tad loud.
However, something has... changed. This 2 emergence has taken an unexpected, and frankly, rather disquieting turn. We've always coexisted, a symbiotic if somewhat one-sided relationship where you occasionally startle us mid-stroll, and we generally try not to step on you. But now, Council, your dedicated 'superfans' are emerging. And frankly, they're making us all look a bit odd.
I speak, of course, of the recent human phenomena involving your very beings. We've seen documentaries of your crunchy bodies being stir-fried with garlic and soy sauce. We've witnessed avant-garde art installations crafted from your delicate exoskeletons – beautiful, yes, but also deeply unsettling when you consider the source. And, with the utmost respect for your ancient lineage, I must bring up the reports of 'cicada striptease.' Cicada. Striptease. Council, are you aware of the marketing implications here? Is this part of the long-term plan? Did your Ancestral PR Firm greenlight the 'sexy cicada' campaign?
For centuries, your brand has been 'mysterious, noisy, ephemeral, and generally harmless.' Now it's 'potential snack, art supply, and questionable dance partner.' One must wonder if the memo got lost somewhere in the geological strata. Perhaps the intern at Ancestral PR, responsible for 'Human-Cicada Interdimensional Engagement,' misinterpreted a directive from the Great Cicada Overlord of Yore. Was 'increase visibility' somehow translated into 'encourage human consumption and questionable performance art'?
I implore you, revered Council, to convene an emergency session. Re-evaluate your messaging. Perhaps issue a collective hum of disapproval or a coordinated dive-bombing campaign on anyone attempting to breadcrumb one of your brethren. We value your unique ecological contribution, your sheer resilience, your ability to emerge, sing, and then… well, whatever it is you do. But for the love of all that is chitinous and subterranean, please, please rein in your human followers. We, the rest of humanity, are not ready for a world where 'cicada-inspired burlesque' is a legitimate search term. Help us restore the natural order. Give us back our dignified, if somewhat annoying, insect overlords. Before things get... weirder.
