All these creepy crawlies are giving me the heeby jeebies, guys... rude house guests is what they are. The other night I witnessed the first of the summer's bugs whom treat my quaint home like a free air conditioned motel. I don't want to even say the word... so I'll say it in spanish: la cucaracha. Flying cucaracha at that! As if the damned varmints of hell aren't disgustingly horrific enough they must be given wings to truly become Satan's fallen angels.
Anyone else picture a sombrero-clad cockroach shaking tiny maracas when they hear the term, "cucaracha"? No? Okay. So this villainous spaniard of an insect was in my room, just trying to hang out with me probably. Sadly, for Mr. Cockroach the feeling wasn't mutual and I attempted to temporarily imprison it within the confines of an empty cup (I prefer to free them outdoors than royally piss off an apocalypse-proof species). However, my depth perception, or rather lack thereof, failed me for about the zillionth time in my life and I ended up halving it instead. I can't say I felt as much sympathy for the vile creature as I did for my sheets and there was no way in hell I was going to sleep anywhere near its miniature crime scene. So I had a lonely late night laundry party. Fibby rejected the invite to said event in order to ensure she got her evening's full 22 hours of beauty sleep.
While I may be ill-equipped to capture any sort of nervous system-bearing bug, I'm completely capable of catching the wheezy, sneezy, viral kind. I often like to believe that my days of booger-eating and manure-stomping supplied me with the kind of immune system that Zeus and the other gods would envy but this theory has been confuted times enough for me to begin practicing safe sanitation. To this I say nay! Germicide is for the weak and sharing (germs that is) is caring. One way or another, I hardly ever withstand evading whatever virus may be taking my area of the Earth by storm. This time it was the flu. But it could've been zombie rabies... so really, I caught a break.
In kitteh, that means "braaaaaaaaainzzzzz"
It might not compare to zombie rabies, but the flu isn't an undead walk in the park either. I'm not so sure I've even been conscious for the past few days... not that I'm ever really positively conscious to begin with. But with all things considered, I may as well have been walking dead were it not for the flies I would've attracted at a cook-out (which I attended in a haze of nyquil). Cold & flu medication inflicts a weird kind of brain scrambling that can not and need not be explained. All sick persons should be temporarily excused from life and especially from embarrassing social situations due to this fact.
There's nothing quite like getting crunk on dextromethorphan.
At this point I really can only think of one other bug which has never failed to sink it's jagged chompers in and suck the fun out of life. The bug which I am referring to is none other than the love bug: it carries a highly contagious and inevitably fatal disease. I'd rather not get carried aways with my failed love interests. Thee only needeth know of my displeasure.
Splat! (That's what I think of that).
Maybe I'm just bitter... Bah hum-bug.
