Once upon a time, there was a caterpillar.
And then, it finished what it started.
You know there is something morally and fundamentally wrong when you’re jealous of an insect.
But I am, and there probably is.
Butterflies, man. What is UP with butterflies, right?
They finish what they start –unless they die or get eaten or are utilized as bait, ending their little lives impaled upon a hook and then mauled by a catfish or something like that.
Caterpillars are, in most cases, rather aesthetically unappealing. Some are downright ugly and terrifying and dangerous and SOME STING. But then they just shut off the world and mummify themselves in this little tomb and suddenly they become beautiful and accomplished and free.
There is no epiphany here: there is just a pointless and ridiculous coveting. Because, really, butterflies only live about one month; they have to eat their own egg sac; and when they are thirsty, they have to drink from nasty, mud-filled puddles: I suppose they deserve one break.
Carry on, lepidopterans. If you made it to the butterfly stage, you kind of deserve it.
A Daily Dose of Zen Sarcasm! 
makes me remember the time my hub killed all the caterpillars on my passion flowers that I planted for the butterflies- he was worried that they’d eat the whole plant! I set him straight and now have lots of flutterbyes.