Roaches de Cock

Since accusations are on the fly that I have exaggerated our infestation problem, let me clear the air. Eh-hem. OUR APARTMENT IS OVERRUN WITH GIANT, FLESH-EATING, FLYING, COCKROACHES. Never one to over-dramatize, I have toned this last statement down to highlight it's truth and accuracy. Let it be known that the author of the accusations has never once had to assassinate the damn things himself, oh no, it's all me Friends. All me.

Now, I know some of you mean well when you spout off cute little stories about the ONE time you saw a cockroach and killed it swiftly to be on your merry little urban way, and I appreciate that your experience was so painless. However, yours and my experience are very different. Very. I have killed oh, about 8 cockroaches in the 21 months of living in our apartment. All 8 were giant, about this -------------------------------------------- long. (100% not extrapolated.) To increase their specialness, several of them have flown at me at the exact moment I was trying to overpower them. Fantastic!

Others of you have suggested putting traps about the place. Hoho, he, hahaha. You naive, sad little children. I remember when I too had rainbows in my eyes and unicorns in my dreams... Let me paint the picture a tad bit more: they have been found in every room of the apartment, in different times of the year/day/atmospheric pressure, oblivious to the traps and sprays and gels and hand grenades that I have strategically fortified the house with. We do take the trash out every night, I have stored all of our cabinet foods in airtight containers, I try to clean over, under, and between every piece of furniture at least once a week, sometimes more.

Twice last year I called up Sally-Overreactor-Johnson (aka the landlady) to inquire about an exterminator and twice he came to spray. That's it. Just twice. Sally thought, "Surely we got every single itty bitty cockroach in the whole damn building in two applications! Yay us! High five." No high five, Sally, no high five at all.

I've thrown in the towel with the Roaches de Cock. They must really, really like that apartment. Well, I don't want to blight their happiness any longer. I'll just finish out my time in New York, and leave them in peace. Besides, there's no recourse. There's no hope. As my sister Gina said, "You can't kill them all, they survived the Holocaust!" Thanks Gin, I think you meant the nuclear bomb. Nice try, though.

Sigh, there's not even humor left in our apartment, the cockroaches snuffed it all out. It's a sad day in the nut house. Sad, sad, sad.

Maybe I'll have ice cream for dinner.