So I come home, 2 o'clock this evening/morning, whichever, and walk to the bathroom to wash my face and get ready for bed. Little did I know that crawling around my kitchen was that unspecified creepy crawly thing. And I did find out what it was, thanks to the good ol' internet here. Welcome to Joe's Apartment.
Yes, folks, it's cockroaches.
Now I don't know if this pest was the same from last night's incident (see entry below) but whatever. I am infested, infected, diseased and distraught.
He was under the archway between the livingroom and kitchen, laying on his hard-shelled back, little legs and feelers moving all around. I bend over to get a closer look. Silly bugger has itself tangled up in a knot of hair. How disgusting is that? Seriously. So I do what any other crazy axe murderer would do. I get a steak knife from the drawer and head on over to ground zero.
I held the sharp silver blade over his crusty little body. I brought it down so the shadow was touching him. His squirming stopped. And with one swift chop....
I completely missed. Damn thing scuttled over toward the woodwork. Next best thing? I grabbed the phone book. Slammed it ontop of him.
That seemed to do the trick, for now. I have to check it again when I go back downstairs.
I woke my mom up to tell her my adventures. She wasn't too happy. She won't be happy when she wakes up tomorrow to the rotting cockroach carcass in her kitchen either.
Wish me a safe trip to bed. And may I wake up alone, (never thought I'd say that) without the friendship of a dirty, grimy little scoundrel.
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