The Killing Fields

It's a bug's life. Cute movie, no? All those teeny weeny, cutesy little bugs joining forces to overcome the big bad bugs and help each other endure. Heart warming? On the screen, yes. On my kitchen counters? Not so much.

Every spring we get a home invasion from the front lines of the ant hills that lie beyond our home's barriers. It lasts only a week or so. As near as I can figure, these ants are a wee bit ahead of their natural "outside" food sources, so they come to us and all our crumbs to tide them over.

Now, I am usually a most welcoming host to house guests, both invited or not. But I have this uncanny primal urge to squash the shit out of anything daring to crawl across MY kitchen, counters or floors not withstanding. In fact, I have been known to scream "Die, Motherf**ker" while squishing the offending insect.

Now, my most adoring protector and slayer of beasts, (ie: the Mountain Man)gets uncharacteristically nervous upon hearing the words of a heathen warrior spill from mysuestories virginal (All right, readers...a little poetic license here, OK?)-where were we? Ah, yes, the not so virginal bugspeak of mysuestories.... I think the Mountain Man's fear is based largely on the fact that a strange, maniacal grin accompanies my banshee cries as I take the invading insect into my death roll....That, and the fact that I may still carry this urge to kill long after the ants retreat!

Anyway, the Mountain Man thought it best to take the matter of the Killing of the Beasts into his own hands. He ran out to our local bug killing galleria and returned with little bait traps that he strategically placed around the battle front.

These traps promised to lure the ants with a food source filled with poison, which, since ants are such helpful, community oriented little bastards, they would then bring back to their nest (read: battle-bunker)and infect the rest of their little commie comrades.

Well, after a few days of sneaking into my kitchen like Rambo with a knife between his teeth, (although I was armed with a paper towel and PMS...I DID wear a bandanna for effect, though!) I did noticed fewer ants running around my house.

Note: I did not say FEWER ants IN my house. Just fewer ants RUNNING. It appears that the ants invading MY home? They're gluttons, much like the rest of mysuestories manor occupants. Apparently, our combat ants eat themselves into a stupor, and then die before ever sharing the poison with the rest of the ant army back at bunker hill.

Great. Now I've got to purchase enough bait to feed the entire f***ing army, ONE. ANT. AT. A. TIME.

While I'm waiting, I'm honing my Sylvester Stallone attack moves and grunts. Oh, and in case it all goes terribly wrong? I'm learning how to stitch myself up with a boar's hair.

What I want, is what EVERY ant ridden American wants....Is for OUR Country to love us, as much as we love RAID!

Game on.