The Scientographists I'm sure have some sort of explaination of insects and how their place here is evidence (to their sad, sick little minds,) that there is some sort of Superior Creator flying around somewhere in a mint condition 1937 Packard UFO that put them here. Me, I'm divided on the whole issue.
There are two insects that I want to bring to your attention which both support and destroy the idea that some Flying Brain Guy put bugs here with us naked monkeys for some rational reason.
Point: The preying mantis. The preying mantis is the ultimate design for quickly and efficiently turning other insects into fuel to make more preying mantises. Fast as lighting, a variety of subspecies designed to blend in with every conceivable background and incredible speed combined with natural weaponry make for a package that is superior in so many ways that it's hard not to imagine some Ultimate Being sitting up there in It's workshop peering myoptically into a magnifying glass, carefully gluing yet more razor-sharp barbs on those front legs, mumbling to Itself something like "Oh yeah, that's more like it. Booyah!"
Point Two: The June Bug. The June Bug is prime proof that there is no Superior Being, unless you take it as proof that there is a Superior Being with a profoundly sick sense of humour somewhere out there.
The June bug is ridiculous. What sort of Ultimate Creator would design a bug that cannot right itself on any surface other than very thick grass? A lovely colour in a sort of bronze-brown, six little useless legs that reach just far enough that the insect cannot walk properly at any time on any surface, and wings that are just strong enough to propel the insect at high speed into the hardest surface available. They've got incredibly strong little legs, a clamping strength that rivals that of most modern stainless steel hemostats, and yet they cannot use those marvelously strong legs to do anything other than flail miserably while the bug is trapped upside on it's back.
When they are done flying, their wings still hang outside of the hard wing cases.
When they hit things they do so head first, at high speed, like a small copper-brown bullet.
When they lie on my front porch by the thousands, six thousands of little armoured legs flailing in the air, wings hanging out of their wingcases all I can do is shake my head in amazement--who in their right mind would have designed an insect so very incredibly poorly, except as a joke?
June bugs. Living proof that if Gawd is up there then He's asleep at the wheel. Either that or She's one really sick punk.