We begin our beautiful mating ritual by dancing in the uranium dust to demonstrate the size of the nest we’d like to build the female. Then we provide her with delectable spittum produced in our third stomach; at this point, many of us will drop dead from hunger. Next we fight one another for dominance using intra-thorax piercing techniques, further whittling our numbers. We haven’t consumed sustenance for many rotations now; thus, out of the hundreds of potential mates that started the process, between one and zero remain. So the whole process starts over again. Isn’t life a convoluted miracle?