A word of caution: this is a little long and nobody will appreciate it the content. Still, I wanted to put this blog out there for some reason, I just don't know what.
I had a fairly shitty day. No particular reason, but the boredom just felt somewhat stifling.
The weather got a bit nicer and I moped outside to chip paint. It's the first stage of painting the house, something that I have been doing for three months because I fucking hate it and am way too unmotivated.
Now, there has been a few little hornet communes located around the front porch as of early summer. I was well aware of their existence, but was not horribly bothered; I did my thing, they did theirs. We had a good, polite relationship. I didn't antagonize them or their kids, and they didn't sting me in my eyeballs. The world was peachy-keen with sugar-sprinkled gumdrops in Tom/Hornet land.
Then, their attitude suddenly took a turn for the worse. I couldn't go get the paper without them flying up to my face and madd-doggin' me. Not content with the prospect of a fair fight (namely me getting stung repeatedly and rolling up and down the steps), they made sure to bring their homies. Bitches be rollin' four deep with hate in their eyes. Maybe they were perturbed by the cold, or possibly responding negatively out of concern for recent economic developments, but they had decidedly become dicks.
This brings us to today:
So I'm chipping paint and they start their shenanigans again. Now I was fucking sick of their attitudes and decided it was time to snap some necks (or that skinny thing that leads to the abdomen).
In the garage, I found a new can of carbuerator cleaner with one of those straw-nozzle-things. I took it out to the yard and went on a tiger-sweep. It was fucking search and destroy; a burnt earth campaign of 'shit's going down'. With the can of cleaner, I started knocking them out of the air. They were dead before they hit the ground. The applicator straw made it an extremely accurate weapon. Like Gunny Hathcock, I was sniping bitches at one click away (distance adjusted and scaled to hornet-metric). Then I stumbled upon the nest: a two-second douse caused numbers of hornets to fall from their little hidey-hole things. It was satisfying. I suddenly became very aware of all the fun I was having; I didn't want it to end. It was like when you find an old Etch-A-Sketch or something and start having so much fun in your rediscovered passion that you never want it to end.
Then, like a man unhinged, I quickly sought out new nests to subject to my chemical warfare. I found five. Spray them, stomp the hornets, kick the nest, do the "I don't want to get stung" dance. I was having the best time indulging in my secret genocidal desires that I was unaware that I was being watched by my neighbor. No longer vacuuming his car, he was solidly staring at me as I spazzed around my yard like a retard playing invisible Dance Dance Revolution. Did I mention I was wearing goggles? Yeah, that didn't make me look any better. The sudden wave of embarassment forced shame to overcome my bloodlust. I figured that I should probably come inside. So that's why I'm here. Blogging about what a loser I am.
But fuck it. I had a blast. Tomorrow I will do it again.