A rerun from 2000
washer and drier and thought it might be fun to chirp all f’ing night long.
I spent about an hour at 2:00 am trying to find the little buggers but as
soon as I started getting in close, they stopped. I’d walk away and then
“chirp chirp chirp!” What is the biological purpose of chirping anyway – I’m
sure it’s not to annoy the h*** out of me. There appeared to be a clan of
them, the whole f’ing Mormon Tabernacle Cricket Choir chirping Handel’s
Cricket Messiah at the top of their little lungs (do crickets have lungs?).
Maybe crickets chirp when they’re having sex? Crickets have sex don’t they?
If so, there was a lot of monkey lovin’ going on at my house last night.
Is this what happened?Cricket: “Chirp chirp chirp.”
Translation: “Oh baby, you are so big!”
Cricket: “Chirp…Chirp, chirp, chirp”
Translation: “Not there, there, oh baby you are so big!”
Cricket: “Chirp, Chirp, Chirp…Chrip, chirp, chrip”
Translation: “Wait, honey, stop. That man can hear us. Oh he’s gone…Oh
baby you are so big!”
Cricket: “Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!”
Translation: “I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m cumming”
Or maybe not? Maybe it was just a cricket conspiracy to keep me awake and
they received no physical pleasure from the incessant chirping. Yeah, that’s probably it.
Tonight, there shall be WAR! Raid kills bugs DEAD! Game over.
PART TWO: The war 6/27/2000
OK, call PETA on me . I’ve been a bad boy. Spank me PETA, spank me.
Those f’ing crickets were up to their old tricks again last night. Luckily
they started their sold out N’Cricket concert (Live from the Splatito Washer
and Dryer Auditorium in Pasdadena California) right after 1900 House and
before Road Rules IX (the maximum velocity tour) so I was ready for ’em. You
already know about my “reality-based” show addiction so I’m sure you’re not
surprised that I must fight my battle during commercial breaks. I head to
the washer wearing only my favorite Calvin Klein boxer briefs and armed with
a broom. Chirp Chirp Chirp! Silence. I hum to myself “Bye Bye Bye”, thinking
evil thoughts of death and carnage.
“They think they got me – ha! Vengeance is mine.”
I sweep out from under the washer and dryer and return to Road Rules, hoping
that the concert was over and I would be able to sleep in peace after I got
my fix of “reality” of course. Imagine the disappointment of all the
adolescent crickets after Justin Timbercricket and the rest of N’Cricket
were forced to cancel the show because of the man in the Calvin Klein boxer
briefs.
It was not to be.
Chirp Chirp Chirp! N’Cricket started up again even louder this time. This
siutation required drastic measures, the atom bomb of cricket warfare.
Calvin Klein boxer briefs and a broom just weren’t gonna cut it this time my
friends. This would require, I hate to say it, RAID. I raised the nozzle to
the back of the washer…Chirp, chirp, chirp…oh they had no idea that this
would be the last time they would ever hear “It’s Gonna be Cricket.” I
sprayed, I sprayed and I sprayed with wild abandon, dropping my RAID bomb on
the N’Cricket concert not really caring how many adolescent crickets I
murdered.
Ah yes. It was kinda liberating but ultimately left me feeling uneasy, like
I’d just obliterated the entire village of Hirocricket. All you PETA people
probably hate me now. While I was at it, I sprayed the doorway and
windowsills for ants, returned the remainder of the can of RAID to the
cupboard under the sink and left the room. Did I get ’em? Silence. More
Silence. It was quiet, too quiet. I think the Crickets may have defeated me
even in their death. Have you ever smelled RAID? It is foul stuff. My
nostrils burned but it was quiet.