24 July 2006

Well, it's late July, and...

Time for the fat man to get stung again. The burrowing wasps had found a different location for their ambush and were a lot more aggressive than before. Used a different airframe with a bigger payload, too.

They waited until the lawnmower had passed then sprung the ambush.

“EEEEEEE!” I shrieked and ran inside. A goodly number followed. After the killing, bawling and generally acting in Conduct Unbecoming, I grabbed two cans of bug death and went back outside.

Only to be stung again by the waiting wasps.

So, back in side for a few more minutes of shrieking, bawling.and contemptuous looks from spouse and offspring (I really must have a midlife crisis soon and trade them in on a Porsche), and it was back outside. I went looking a bit lumpier.

Two more stings, three cans of bug death and five gallons of ether later, the nest is gone and I danced around the burning corpses and cackled. This sort of behavior is not only cathartic, but keeps me from getting stuck with jury duty. It's really not such a bad thing. Try it.

After dancing myself out, I pondered why the damn wasps haven't learned yet. Oh, sure, they get a few good jabs in, but in the end it is a Pyrrhic effort, their corpse left twitching amongst the shattered burning ruins of their city and Godzilla dances about in triumph.

What the Hell were they thinking?

Queen: “You there, take 100 wasps and go sting that fattie!”

Wasps “But he'll kill the lot of us!”


Much shrieking and cursing, then Splat!

I used to think that as a species we humans treated our soldiers a little better, but I have evidence to the contrary.

Sgt: “Jenkins, come here! I need to use your rump cheeks as a bench vice.”

Private Jenkins' epiphany. The exact moment at which he decided not to reinlist is recorded for posterity.

Photo credit to "Break!" apparently.

And that's the way I likes it.