Last night, at about midnight, I finally get up and proceed to make my
way towards getting ready to go to bed[1]. I go into my room, walk past
the desk and head to the closet. I notice a few ants, which I grunt at a
bit and squish under the heel of my Docs. And then I get to the closet,
and see that loads and loads of ants bubbling up from the crack along
where one wall of my closet meets the floor, spilling out and beginning
to make their way across the floor and out of the closet.

Holy shit.

I scramble about, and found that no, we had nothing in the apartment for
dealing with any sorts of pest, ant or otherwise. So, after spending a
bit of time attempting to beat them back with a towel, I got myself back
together and, after e-mailing my roommate to warn him that he might want
to check his room for ants, I went out to the nearby 24 hour grocery
store. Fortunately, they had a nice little endcap all set up with
various Raid and Off products.

So, some time and $15 of pest gear purchasing later... I return to
GweepCo 41, and proceeded to go to work. I recall finding myself feeling
very Old Testament about this, like so:

"And I shall swoop down upon thee with a big can of Raid, and with a
righteous annoyance shall I spray it down upon thee, that you may know
my wrath and experience my furious vengeance. All upon the floor that
thou dost tread, all along the fissure from whence you sprang up, I do
lay down the Almighty Smack, that thou dost only know death and ruin.
And lo, I shall deposit ant traps, and they shall rest among thy
corpses, and yea, should any of thy brethren come to the site of thy
slaughter, they shall be tempted by them as an oasis in the desert, and
that shall be their ruin. For thou art not welcome in my closet, nor in
my room, nor in my apartment, and this shall be thy sign *not* to fuck
with me, for thou art nothing but scurrilous insect vermin, and I shall
smite thee like the angel of death himself!"

If a movie ever gets made out of my life, I don't know who'd play my
part, but I expressly want it so that whatever CGI exists in the future
where they'd make movies about random 20th century schmoes like me to
make it possible for Samuel L. "Bad-ass motherfucker" Jackson to step in
in place of the regular guy for the purposes of reading that account of
last night aloud, using his Pulp Fiction "And you shall know that My
name is the Lord" style. Yeah, that'd be great.

I actually had to come down off of a bit of a high from all of that to
be able to get to sleep. Part of it was from the carnage, but most of it
was probably from the stress of the annoyance of all those ants being
there, and from some fumes that probably came off of the Raid spray. It
was about 1am when I finally got to bed, but I don't think I actually
got to sleep until almost 2. Blah.

Slarti, 18-19 June 2001

[1] For the sake of the sanity of one and all, all details that involve
me less than fully clothed shall be omitted from the record.

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