death dealer

I wake up this morning and shuffle into the kitchen to heat some water for greet tea. Glancing back I realize that I just shuffled through a column of ants. Several of them twitch and stagger about on the floor, undoubtedly crying, “Medic!” I follow the trail to see what morsel of food I left on the counter. It leads directly into the garbage disposal. Boy, that’s an easy one.

I spin those suckers into the plumbing, which is fun for about a minute, but I can’t exactly leave it on for the next hour and wait as, one by one, the ants drop into oblivion. So I rummage around in the cabinet under the sink and reach for the bug spray, which I can see in the back of the cabinet. Briefly, I consider using the can of compressed air, but I ditch the idea. That would be like using a leaf blower on leaves with legs. So I go for the Raid. Only I grab the wrong can. It’s WD-40. The little red straw is not in the nozzle, so I don’t notice until after I spray. The ants are soggy, but still walking. They’re not moving very fast. Actually, they’re sort of moonwalking. I grab the Raid and go to town on the ants. Their corpses are drying out in the kitchen. I’ve had to take shelter in the bedroom lest I pass out.

About the author: will

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