Unhelpful

I hate wasps.

Usually, if I encounter one, I can control my rage and either find a way to free it or, if necessary, kill it without too much fuss.

However, self-control comes hard, especially since a few years back when I got stung twice in the same leg in twenty minutes by what turned out to be 1.5 inch long European hornets. Apparently they emmigrated.

A week or so ago, I leave out my back sliding door to grab the garbage and take it out. I grab a box of trash, slam the wooden back fence door shut, and a few minutes later, come back for the garbage can. I walk up to the garbage can, and all of a sudden, there’s a swarm of wasps around me. I run back out the fence, around the house, and damned if those things haven’t chased me all the way there. I pound like mad on the front door which is locked, and my wife finally comes downstairs and lets me in. There was no way I was getting in through the back.

The bastards got me four times. Once on each shoulder, and twice on the left hand. This, of course, is war.

Last I decided to bring the trash out front in the pre-dawn hours of the morning, when wasps are too cold to be active. That’s when I saw it. A huge, glowing object in the sky that hovered in place and…
…uh, my mistake…
…That’s when I saw it. A huge paper wasp nest as big as the lid of a large, refreshing, 72 ounce movie-style personal-irrigator Coca Cola.

I found my enemy and knew where it slept. It was a big knot of slumbering yellow bodies. I carefully pondered the course of action I would take. I seriously considered just grabbing a jar and going out one morning and quickly scraping the whole thing into the container and putting a lid on it. Then I could put it next to my monitor and watch them as they slowly died of starvation. The thing that stayed my hand wasn’t a sudden fit of mercy. No, I wanted a higher bodycount. Not only were the wasps in the nest going to die, the ones away from their nest were going to bite it when they returned.

So again, in the pre-dawn hours, I came to the home of my foe. But this time I was armed with a can of streaming foamy wasp killing insecticide. I happily soaked their nest in the wasp deathsauce, and got a satisfied feeling from it. Then, at 5:00 am on a Tuesday morning in a townhouse complex, I taunted my foe.

“You little bastards,” I said. “That is what happens when you fuck with the top of the food chain.”

Am I wrong to address so intellectually inferior a foe in this way? Did I achieve a maximum kill ratio? What the fuck was I doing up at 5:00am? Did my neighbors hear me? All these questions and more answered next week in the stunning conclusion of “Adventures with Delusion”.