Subject: Chlorine Cure

Date: 01 Oct 1998 00:00:00 GMT

From: nospamum@radix.net (Mumthra)

Organization: RadixNet Internet Services

Newsgroups: alt.foot.fat-free

Last night, one was scurrying over the door frame in the kids'

bedroom. The kids weren't esspecially bothered, because I said they

don't bite. I saw one in the shower, but tried to convince myself it

was something else. When one of them fell off the inside of the

cabinet door onto the counter as I reached for a coffee cup this

morning, I started to get jumpy, but the worst was the time I reached

for a paper towel and caught sight of one of them using the roll like

a giant treadmill. That time I almost screamed.

Apparently, we have a serious infestation allofasudden, and these

aren't typical roaches. These are nuclear survival roaches. They lap

up the Raid like it's dessert and chuckle about the traps. I'm pretty

certain that they sometimes lie on their backs and do six-footed

running juggle tricks with the traps late at night. Yeah. They're

survivors AND althletic circus insects.

If they had any sense, they'd hide better, but they're not that smart

and they are thoroughly cocky cockroaches. Now I'm wearing shoes in

the kitchen and approaching every dark corner with hesitation AND I'm

losing what little appetite I have left. All this is putting me in a

real killing mood.

No more half-measures. This ain't no party. This ain't no giant roach

motel. This ain't no foolin' around. They are going to DIE.

We had a little hesitation about stinking up the whole house with

poison, but the fragrance of Raid is so heavy already that it hardly

seems like a big move any more. It's a smell that completely

disorients me and calls up the eerie sense that I'm back in New York.

It makes me want to go for a walk, look at Art, eat weird food, have

conversations with people dressed in posterboard, ANYTHING to avoid

huffing that bug killing perfume.

The reek was bad enough this morning that I burned some incense in the

kitchen, but after a few hours, the smell war was won, and the

cherry-flavored sandalwood smoke was defeated as if it had never

swirled around and made me sneeze.

We were driven from the house at last, and bailed into the indoor

swimming pool. As luck would have it, I still had a few paid passes,

and the counterkeeper winked and didn't charge for the baby.

After lots of happy splashing, all we can smell is the chlorine and

everyone is hungry again.

That settles it. We're gonna swim while their little buggy eyes go

dim.