Battle Cry

I do not like to gloat. Too many times the reason you gloat comes back to bite you in the ass. However, I do feel like daubing some black, silver, orange, red, and neon green body paint all over my body. Don a loin cloth, and hang beads and bells around my neck. Then grabbing my warrior spear I shall prance around the yard all in time to Fleetwood Mac's "Tusk."

It appears that I have won a great victory over some relentless ants that invaded our kitchen. I found them racing around the counter top, a few even made it into my cereal. I sealed the package and ate them anyway, my retribution. I crushed them with my thumb, I sprayed them with poison, I flushed them down the drain with water spray. As they kept coming I was ever alert and on the attack.

Finally one morning, very early, when I turned on the light in the kitchen I spotted their entrance. Aha! Injecting some poison into the crack, setting a baited trap guaranteed by the manufacturer to wipe out ants, roaches and all manner of pests I carried the battle to their doorstep. I laughed at the dead bodies, I felt like Chuck Norris or Steven Segal. The body count was rising and the tide seemed to be turning.

Now I haven't seen an ant for about a week. I shall celebrate. However I will wear sneakers lest they hear my celebration and mount a counter offensive.