9 December 2009

! those little bastards...

About three things I was absolutely positive:

* First, summer had begun.
* Second, there was a part of me — and I didn't know how dominant that part might be — that wanted to burn all those little motherf***ers to death.
* And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably, still scared of cicadas.

OK, enough of the Twilight reference (it was fun though, right?).

Seriously now, yesterday I had my first cicada situation of the season. One of the little bastards had the cheek to sit on the towel I pulled off the washing line, all the way into the house! Stupid little sticky legs. Crunchy. Sticky legs. Sticky. Ew.

As it wasn't one of the giant horrid green ones and on comparison actually looked rather approachable, I decided I could handle it. So I took it to the toilet and with a piece of toilet paper hurriedly torn, I shoved the little bastard into the toilet. And flushed. And flushed. Those little bastards don't flush! So I gave up and left him (her? him/her?) to drown.

Forty minutes later... It was still swimming around! In the toilet bowl! I swear, my effort against them just might save them from trying to take over the world. Bastard. So I grabbed him with another ball of torn toilet paper and dumped him outside.

Then I realised that was possibly the worst option as that little Hitler has probably survived and is now having little Hitlerettes out of its hermaphrodite bottom.

I'll get you next time! Just try me!

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