July 27, 2003
I admit to being a shitty housekeeper. (I need a put-upon woman to do that kind of stuff because wimmen enjoy the sense of martyrdom they feel when they are put upon by men. It gives them something to bitch about.) I live by myself and my standards for proper housekeeping are pretty low.
But I don't have any roaches in my home. I have goddam CRICKETS instead. The bastards invaded me last summer and I thought it was merely an abberation. But they are back now.
I have nothing against crickets. They make excellent bait when you want to fish for Bluegill or Redbreast bream, and they sound nice outside at night when they make their courting noises. But they should be either on a fish hook or OUTSIDE. I don't want the bastards in the Crackerbox.
I killed more than 30 crickets in the house this week. They are in the bathtub in the morning and in the kitchen in the evening. They may come hopping down the hallway at any time. They park their asses in closets and in the corners and sing their songs of love at night, which force me out of bed to gas the noisy bastards with a can of Raid.
Why the hell would ANY self-respecting cricket want to be in my house when he has all of Effingham County just outside the door? I don't know. I don't care.
They are here, and I kill 'em when I find them.
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