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August 07, 2009

Sting operation

T’was a glorious morning in Candiland.  I gazed out the window at the verdant fields, lush green trees, and family of bunnies nibbling on pompoms of clover, grateful for the low humidity and cheeky sun.  I sighed a “life doesn’t get much better than this” sigh, and stepped out onto the second-story sleeping porch to inhale an unrestricted breath of healthy country air.

Big smile on my face, I turned to come back in and noticed that either a swami had left behind his gray turban in the corner of the porch roof, or I had wasps.  Insectile projectiles launched from the puffy mass, so I quickly deduced I wasn’t dealing with forgetful Hindi mystic.

Screaming, door-slamming, and expletive-shouting ensued.

I could feel kamikaze wasps thudding against the door…waspy teeth chewing through the ancient wood…camofluaged sniper wasps belly-crawling under the door frame.  You have no idea.

As I’ve mentioned, I’m an aging peacenik hippie, but I did not hesitate before driving directly to the hardware store for napalm.  Seems that’s a special order item so I ended up with a torpedo-sized can of Raid that bragged about the 22-foot jet stream of toxic and noxious chemicals guaranteed to kill immediately and without remorse.  “Do you have and extra-strength version?” I asked store clerk.  

Helpful hardware man, indeed.

Posted at 05:54 PM |

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