Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen

Somehow over the past few months and without any conscious intent I’ve become a vicious killer. How did this happen? I’ve always thought of myself as a live-and-let-live sort of guy; a guy with little or no malice toward any of the creatures I share this planet with.

My transition to the dark side began when we returned from our summer vacation to find our attractively landscaped front yard overwhelmed by a huge invasion of weeds. Not just little, kind-of-pretty, flower-like weeds but the big, ugly, mean, take-over-the-yard kind, most of which want to stick you when you try to get personal. I was tireless in my efforts to kill these living things that had invaded my space without even a by-your-leave. What made me think that this was my space and not theirs is the subject for another day?

I couldn’t wait to kill these invaders. I hopelessly pulled, hacked, and hoed but they had me out-numbered and surrounded. They retaliated by poking holes in my fingers and spreading their eye-watering and nose-running pollen. I was at war and the total destruction of the enemy was my goal. I soon progressed to chemical warfare. As I sprayed and sprayed I enjoyed watching my enemies squirm with my poison dripping from their wilting leaves. I had them on the run, so I went for the kill with a propane burner. I burned the remaining stalwarts along with the poisoned corpses of their brothers-in-arms.

I won! But what was happening to me? I really enjoyed killing this large population of invaders, and I might add, without the slightest bit of remorse.
For weeks I felt listless and longed for battle and the opportunity to kill something. The one-off, little weed that popped up now and then did little to satisfy my cravings. Pouring poison on a mini ant hill or two didn’t do much for me either. Just when I was about to lapse into a neurotic stupor, wave after wave of big, black, aggressive house flies hit our left flank. Here is a formable enemy; one with vision and maneuverability. These bastards will require a different game plan. They have vast numbers, speed and avian skills.

Our pest control guy was a worthless comrade. His only idea was an awful smelling solution that was more irritating than the damn flies themselves. Chemical warfare in the form of aerosol cans is only effective if you can get your enemy to stand still and take his poison like a man. For yet unexplained reasons my wife won’t let me use my very effective propane “flame thrower” in the house.

The only weapon left in my arsenal is a primitive flyswatter. It can be effective, if accurately applied to one stationary enemy at a time. I now spend most of the day on sentry duty with my flyswatter in hand. I’m far from winning this war but I’ve declared my back door the DMZ and I’m holding my own on my side. The enemy enjoys a free-fly zone in my backyard until Mother Nature joins my force with a good hard freeze.

My daily hand-to-hand combat with my latest enemy goes on. They haven’t ceded an inch of turf yet but my body count is way up. Where have you heard that before?

©2008 by Bob Rockwell