fullmetalgerbil

This apartment was getting to the point of entirely disgusting us due to the cockroaches. I mean, it was gettting bad. Apparently the maintenence dood or whatever the fuck he is, sprayed some apartments on the third floor and the fucking bugs just ran down here. So we sprayed, liberally and with utmost malice. And it worked. For about a day and a half. Then they came back worse than before.

So we went to plan b. Got the roach bait and put it all over the place, big strings of Vegemite colored glop in every crack and over every doorframe. Even in the bathroom drop ceiling which is falling down and unrepaired due to the fucking slumlord who owns this place. I have to go in there every couple of weeks, push the panels back into place and try to straighten out the buckling frame. There’s a goddam water leak from a split pipe that drips down from above which is ever so slowly pushing the whole drop ceiling down inch by inch. Yeah, well anyway, I put a whole mess of bait up in that ceiling since we figure most of the little fuckers are getting in that way. I hope they pig out on that bait and die a horribly agonizing, slow, wretched death. Apparently this bait isn’t supposed to kill them right away, it gives them time to get back to the nest, then die. And after that the little cannibal fucks eat the poisoned roach and then they die. Its some pretty diabolical stuff. I mean, I sure hate roaches but I don’t think I could have come up with some shit like that. I wonder if this bait stuff would work on zombies.

Anyhows, we baited a while ago and the roaches have been about as absent as David Duke at an evening at the Apollo. There’s probably dozens, if not hundreds of living, breathing roaches with their lttle roach dramas and their little roach dreams…right now gasping their last little roach breaths as the poison eats up their little roach guts. And somehow, I feel the tinyest little twinge of guilt for, in effect, being a mass murderer. But its not enough to overwhelm the, albiet sadistic, glee at the prospect of not having to worry about those little motherfuckers scurrying across a plate I was just going to fix a sangwich on.

And it sits well with my wife too. I mean, I get machismo points for defending the homestead against the beasties. Guess I’ll get to parade around in my wooly mammoth sling dings while eating a raw steak and grunting profusely tonight.