Ode To The Bug That Would Not Die

You crawled up my wall with your little icky bug-y body.

You climbed all the way to the top. The better to spy on me, I'm sure.

You were hanging out up there, planning your attack. Don't think you fooled me any. I knew you weren't harmless. Oh no, Evil Bug, I had your number.

But did you have mine?

No!

You fell perfectly into my trap. I haven't cleared that part of the wall of cobwebs in three years because I knew you were coming. And I knew you would get stuck.

And you did.

But damn you and your little buggy ways. You escaped! And fell to the floor at my feet.

That sudden squeal you heard was not a squeal of fear at your sudden close proximity. Nay! I was just warning you not to mess with me.

But you didn't listen. I could have let you live. And I would have, had you not tried to every so sneakily walk over to the pile of clean clothes I'd just (three days ago) washed. I could not let you frolic in my under thingies. You had to be stopped.

So I grabbed my weapon (half a roll of paper towels all wadded up in the Paper Towel Ball Of Doom) and squished you like a bug. Like... uh... you. I pressed down good and hard to make sure you were really most sincerely dead. It was the least I could do. I picked up the PTBOD and looked down at you.

Twitch.

No! It can not be!

Twitch.

How could you still be alive?!

You started to crawl away so I squished again. Harder this time. I counted to ten. And checked.

Twitch. Twitch. Twitchy twitchy twitch.

I squished. I smashed. I squished again. And still you would not die! So I grabbed a shoe. A heavy duty shoe. And pressed it down on the PTBOD, which was pressing down on you. I pressed with all my might.

I checked again.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Yes!

Twitch.

Shit!

Again I tried to squish you with the PTBOD. And the shoe. And this time I stood on the shoe. And I jumped up and down on the shoe. That's a lot of stuff on top of you and still you wouldn't die. Oh, what a worthy adversary you were turning out to be!

Again I pressed down on the shoe. I even added a bit of back and forth motion to the shoe to really rub you into the carpet. And again I checked on you.

Waiting...

Waiting...

Twitch.

Damn.

I almost left you to die on your own time, but I couldn't do that. So I picked up the shoe and whacked you. Hard. And still you continued to move. To taunt me with your undyingness.

Whack. Whack.

Whackwhackwhackwhackwhackwhackwhack.

Whack.

Finally. You ceased to be. You are no more.

Farewell you damn bug. Farewell.

---

I had to take care of The Bug That Would Not Die because my valiant bug slayer, Sir Bugsmealot (a.k.a. the H.B.), was not here. When he got home I told him about the bug. The first thing he said was, "Why didn't you just flush it?"

Oh. Oh yeah. Duh. Death by drowning. Quick and probably a lot less painful than half-effective whacking. That's why he's the official bug assassin in this relationship. Though, in my defense, if I'd tried to pick up the bug while it was still twitchy, it could have gathered enough strength to attack me. I couldn't give it enough time to do that.