Jul 31 2003
All right you little bastards. I tried to give you an out. I left out the traps to let you know you weren’t welcome. If you were dumb enough to actually eat the stuff, I figured it was your problem. I don’t know any more nice ways to say this: You. Must. Get. Out.
My discovery last night was the last straw. Hiding in my potted English Ivy? What’s that about? You will never understand the disappointment and dismay I felt when I saw you all swarming out of the bottom of the pot after I watered that plant. I felt that a trust had been violated. I trusted you to confine your marauding to the dirty dishes and bits of crumbs that don’t always get cleaned up, and you trusted me to smush you whenever I happened to lay eyes on you.
I thought that you would have gotten the message about my plants being verboten after what happened to your relatives outside. Did any of them survive the Sevin fallout? I didn’t think so. And I no longer feel sorry for them, either. I thought that you were better than them, but I guess the old adage is true: You can’t trust ants, whether indoors or outdoors.
Perhaps you’ve noticed that there is now pesticide dusted all over the entrances and exits to the windows? Well, you know who that’s for, don’t you? It’s for YOU. And there’s no use in trying to escape. Some of your dumber friends probably already tracked it in to your home, beginning the cycle of destruction. Likewise with the extra traps sitting around. I bet you thought that idiot Vinnie Ant was harmless, didn’t you? Well, Vinnie just fed your kids some grade A poison, so how do you like that?
You have until next week to remove yourself from my home. After that, the “shock and awe” campaign begins — the furry demons go away for the day and the house gets bombed. I’ll use that illegal shit if I have to. Whatever it takes to get you out of my house.
Tell your Queen Bitch I said “Have a nice day.”