Am I paranoid if someone is actually trying to kill me? The apocalypse is nigh, friends, and ground zero is my backyard.
Texas is becoming unlivable. Never mind its low rankings in education, high infant mortality rates, low percent of people who trust “facts” and the hellscape we call summer. No, no; now it’s personal. It’s bent on my destruction–trying to purge me from its borders.
First poisonous snakes slithered their way out of the creek and curled under bushes. So, we bought a laser-sighted BB gun, dispatched a few, and displayed their BB-riddled carcasses as warnings. Now they brazenly stretch themselves out on the patio asking if I feel lucky enough to make it to the grill, laughing at me through their little snake-y eye-slits, mocking my organic garlic spray, flimsy pooper scooper defense and my flip flopped feet.
Maybe it was my DEET-induced fog this morning that caused me to stand in a mound of fire ants for several minutes while the little bastards had their way with my ankles. Luckily I found I’m not allergic to fire ants, which can kill you in minutes if you are. They are indestructible, and they know it. I went bleeping nuts on their little poison sac posteriors with the jet spray nozzle, but they just scattered, re-swarmed and regarded me with their beady compound eyes as lunch. I retreated and re-applied my DEET.
I’m not sure which will get me first, the West Nile Virus bearing mosquitos or routine self-fumigation. I’m starting to think of Family Care Off as my signature scent.
They might seem harmless, but I’ve nearly run into oncoming traffic trying to shake one of those gigantic mesozoic grasshoppers loose from my yoga pants.
I do like those spiky lizards. I haven’t discovered their sinister plot to undo me yet.