Thursday, August 5, 2010


I woke up this morning and immediately had two thoughts.
  1. My hand was back to normal size and no longer throbbing.
  2. It was payback time.
All day long, I plotted my vengeance, researching homebrew poisons, comparing sprays, all the while trying to figure out how to keep my distance as I dealt death to my insectile nemeses. A plan slowly came together over the course of the day.

The nest is (or was) on a slight slope. The first thing I did was mark the hole. I did this by balling up a receipt and casually tossing it. It landed less than an inch from the hole. The yellowjackets flying in and out of the hole paid it no mind.

Next, I knew I wanted some sort of poison delivery system. I was thinking I had a length of pipe in the garage that would work. I must have been thinking of some other pipe because this one was fifteen feet long. I looked around the garage a bit and found a pizza box I forgot to throw away last trash day. I unfolded the box to its full length and folded it into four so that edge on, it looked like an M. The middle of the M was to be my poison channel. Once it was in place, I set a brick at the end so my container would be easy to knock over.

The container! The part of the plan I considered the least! I was baffled for a few minutes. I had originally planned on using a butter dish I could throw away afterwords. Unfortunately, my poison channel was too narrow. The butter dish would hit the edge and slop it's contents everywhere. I took Belle for a walk to think things over. Luckily, the bastard neighbor kids litter all the time and it didn't take long to find a suitable vessel: an empty 24 oz. can of Busch Light.

I hacked the top off the can with a gaudy pocket knife of my brother's I found in my junk drawer. I grabbed my trusty broom and went into the garage to fill the can with liquid death.

*** the next paragraph is mysteriously missing. ***

Once the can was full of that gloriously noxious toxin, I steeled myself for what had to happen next. I placed the can on the brick and took a deep breath. I took a few steps back and clutched the broom so hard my knuckles turned white. A bead of sweat ran down my forehead and joined a hundred of its brothers lost in my eyebrow. A few long seconds passed.

Finally, I just said "Fuck it!" and tipped the can over with the broom and ran like the wind. Seconds later, I was safely inside my house. A few minutes passed and I called my dad to brag about my remarkable display of cunning. He was suitably impressed.

I'll go outside and confirm the kills later. I don't imagine there being many survivors.

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