05 September 2005

Bees in our time.

OK, now I’ve had it. The yellow jackets stung me and I took out their nest. We’re even, right? Noooo, the little bastards had to bring in hornets. It’s one thing to be stung in the arm, or leg, or head, or even the taint, but I absolutely draw the line when they sting me on the starboard man-boob. I do not look good lopsided.

Appeasement can be an option no longer; this is war.

Know Thine Enemy.

The Axis of Weevil. Well, they’re obviously not weevils, but that’s what rhymes. In fact, wasps are classified in the phylum Arthropoda, class Insecta, order Hymenoptera. Quit giggling, you lot…

These may not be the finest exemplars of the wasp family, as they have been slightly damaged in shipping. Oh Hell, I admit it. I stomped on them. What do you want? I hate the fuckers. (The sting from the little ground dwelling turd-burglar on the left hurt the worst and caused the most swelling).

The Weapons:

Better killing through technology; the modern anti-wasp arsenal. Swatter? We don't need no steenking swatter!

1). Über Toxic Bug Death. Obviously, I’m not above a little chemical warfare, but this stuff is, after all, a nerve agent. I decided to stop after using a case or so, since I still need to live here.

2). Napalm. Its use is banned near the house, but can be used on burrowing wasps in the yard. Not entirely successful, but very, very satisfying.

3). Pressure washer. Nothing ruins a wasp’s day more than being squished by a 2000 psi jet of watery doom. The downside is that nothing ruins my day more than being stung by as wasp that objects to having his home skooshed. Also the thing isn’t very portable.

4). Baseball cap. This is a last ditch weapon but surprisingly effective nonetheless. Swat them as they fly about to stun them; then as they stagger about the ground, the last thing that goes through their heads is my size eleven boot (13UK; 76 or some outrageous number on the Continent. Honestly, who ever heard of metric feet? Do it right, or go shoeless, ya godless sandal wearing Euro hippies.)

5). Welding gloves. Why not just grab handfuls and crush the life out of the bastards? I'll tell you why; unless you tape the glove openings to your sleeves, they'll just fly up into the gloves.

6). WD-40 and cigarette lighter (not shown). Also highly satisfying, yet immediately confiscated. Poo.

The Campaign

I’ll not bore you with the details; suffice it to say there was a lot of high pitched shrieking and running in circles until the neighbors took their hose to me. Also, several visits from our very concerned fire department.

At the end of the day, Centre county animal control tranq-darted me; but not before I’d wiped out the yellow peril. Victory, sweet victory!

But at a cost. Wasps, as it turns out, can sting through jeans, especially if the denim is stretched taut.
Trophies. I shall make a necklace out of them, to warn off other wasps. Yes, damn it, it does make me feel like a real man to kill small creatures. You see, I have issues with my father. When I was a child I could never please him, and… oh, the hell with this touchy-feely crap. All you hippies can kiss my swollen left arse cheek.

And that's the way I likes it.