Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Since today is my 22nd birthday I'm really planning to milk it for all of it's worth. It's like when old people use their senility to get away with dancing in spilled milk at a grocery store while wearing a sun dress. You don't think "Hey, that's not right!" you just think "Aww, he's old and happy."
So if I offend you, push you into traffic, or generally don't do the things you expect me to do on a daily basis.... it's my birthday. Keep that in mind. In fact, I may just go make a sandwich board to wear all day that gives fair warning.

Today was destined to be different from the moment I woke up.

Figure 1-A:

I awoke at 8am this morning to find myself on the receiving end of a full on cockroach onslaught. This sucker was obviously armed with an unquenchable thirst for my blood and it was quickly becoming apparent that no amount of flailing and girlish shrieking was going to stop it.
Since I wasn't wearing my glasses, therefore making me legally blind in 3 states, I had to first identify the blurry threat before I could create a strategy on how to deal with the attacker. Was it a mouse? Nope, too small. Was it a spider? Nope, not enough legs. Was it my Uncle? Doubt it, I haven't seen him in years. I could make out just enough legs and antenna to correctly identify it as the Periplaneta Americana, which when translated into English means "the last insect I want frolicking across my chest when I wake up after 3 hours of sleep."
After calming myself with visions of miniature Snickers and former high school classmates on fire, I collected my thoughts and proceeded to strip 70% of the sheets and blankets from the bed in an attempt to locate the critter and watched angrily as it took cover underneath some nearby furniture. After about ten minutes of trying to coax it out from the depths of the dresser-turned-makeshift-insect-fallout-shelter, I had almost given up hope. Then that's when the creature made a fatal misake by rearing it's ugly head for a split second in an attempt to taunt me a second time, I acted instinctively, forgoing the can of Raid I had on hand, and instead haphazardly slammed that sucker into oblivion with my shoe.
Normally I don't get an ego about things, but since I was now a certified badass I threw my hands in the air in a style that would have made Rocky feel lazy. Cleanup tissue in one hand, roach-coated shoe in the other, I knew at that moment what it must be like to play a rock show for ten thousand people. For that split second I was bigger than The Beatles. For that moment in time... I was the Walrus. I was Wes "Roachslayer" Locher. All roaches within a two mile radius quivered with fear and lost control of their bowels.
One harsh dive back into reality later I realized it was time put the shoe down and get ready for work, but as I washed away the grime of a vicious assassination with a hot shower, I uttered to myself 'Yeah, it's gonna be a good day.'


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