There was a young man who was a field worker. He lifted bundles of hay and stacked them into square monuments. Occasionally he would come into conflict with a certain breed of flying ant. The locals called them piss ants, because they would spray you with an acidic mist that irritated the skin and caused an allergic reaction.
The piss ants would choose one bale of hay as their colony, so it was always random happenstance when they would show up. At first, when the piss ants landed on him, the young man would smash them. They irritated him. That strategy never worked because they only seemed to attack him more. It only made sense because they could smell their dead comrades and would work as a colony to avenge their brethren. It got so bad that the young man was forced to flee the stack until the next day.
Smashing them didn’t work. So for the next few years the young man would just run away anytime the piss ants would show up. He didn’t like this solution because he couldn’t get any work done. But what could he do against so many?
As the years went on the ranch hands skin became a little bit older and thicker. A little more leathery. One day a piss and showed up all by himself. What was he doing here all alone? The young man watched the piss and on his arm and noted its behavior. It was licking his arm hair.
It just wanted salt.
The next time a bale of piss ants appeared, the young man gritted his teeth and let the ants have free rein over him. They were bothersome, but not intolerable… Smashing the poor piss ants was giving them way too much credit. They were just piss ants after all.
After about an hour they were buried. Gone.
He who has ears to hear, let him hear.