Thursday, July 08, 2004
Now it's been a while since my last bee sting. The last time was during a cross country race. Somehow the bastard got into my jersey and stung me on the nipple. Painful, but I did go up a cup size for a few days. And got some dates out of it.
But I digress. As I'm standing by my back door, swearing and wondering if I am allergic to stings, I notice the hole in the ground (stupid things even build their home in the ground!) that is the source of the flying devils. The neighbor behind me comes to the fence to find out what's going on, and I tell her. She checks out my side and offers her condolences-while laughing. She said it was kinda funny watching me run around in circles tearing my clothes off (literally, as the t-shirt was one that had "1990" on it and did nothing to hide what I had underneath) and yelling. Offering advice on treatment, eradication, and taxes, she blathered on for a while as if I cared about anything but revenge. I finally cut her off and told her not to worry about the wasps because I'd found their nest and was about to take care of it. She looked worried, I grinned devilishly. I told her that maybe she should grab her cat (the damn thing is always in my yard harassing the poor birds. I wish it'd at least be useful and take out the woodpecker so it would stop pecking on my gutters. Stupid thing. Doesn't it know that gutters are metal and there are no bugs in there? If it weren't illegal, I'd use the 12-guage on that damn thing and then it'd leave my gutters alone) and wait inside a while. She clammed up, finally, and went in her house, though I saw her watching from behind a curtain.
I went inside. Turned on some Metallica. I dressed in my cowboy boots, jeans, a long sleeve shirt, motorcycle helmet, and my Kevlar cycle gloves. I went to the garage and got my can of gasoline. And some matches. I went back out into the yard. I could see the little buggers flying up out of their nest/hole, demonic little miscreants that had become the bane of my existence. They flew around as if taunting me to come nearer, flying in patterns that said: "we're not scared of you, you pufda!" I smiled knowingly. The song "Blackened" blared in the background. I could now see the neighbors on all 3 sides watching from their homes. The kids to my left looked ready to cry. I didn't care. I had to do this. I walked over to the hole. There were 5 of the devils flying around me, bouncing off the helmet, and I could see more in the ground. I took the nozzle off my Can of Liberation. I dumped the full 2 gallons into the hole. I wasn't going to lead a trail away from the hole to light. It doesn't work, and I wanted to watch the bastards die. I tossed the can to the side and got out my matches. As if able to read my mind, the 5 cretins flying around dashed back to their hole as if to help their drowning compatriots. Good. I'd get them all. I brought out the matches. I lit one and dropped it in. There was a loud WHOOSH and I was knocked back by the fireball that erupted. The paint on my helmet cooked off, the front of my clothes were BLACKENED, and I watched one wasp try to fly away in mimicry of a firefly. I grabbed a nearby slat from the fence (it's in bad shape, it's falling apart) and smacked that f*cker like a flaming tennis ball. It exploded into pieces. It was done.
2 hours later, when the gas finally burned out (I watched the whole thing), my neighbors came out to chat. They looked at me differently than they had before, but thanked me for taking care of the problem. I told them if they had similar problems to let me know and I'd help out. They muttered thanks, then walked away. One kid, however, stayed behind. He asked how it felt to have done what I did. I looked morose and told him that killing is wrong, and that I felt bad. He looked disappointed, so I laughed and told him the truth.
He's coming over next week for fire lessons. Don't tell his mom