Bugs, bugs everywhere! They have descended on the city like a tempest, a jihad against exposed flesh. Where are the seagulls? These lazy pigeons ain't doing shit.
These pests are spawning faster than gremlins in a bathtub, even at the office where I work. It's unsettling when they land on the computer screen as nonchalantly as they did the black and white TV I watched growing up. They're in the bathrooms, the hallways, and the elevators. I got bit on the back of the thigh and on the Achilles tendon this morning. Vicious thugs -- it's hard to scratch the Achilles.
One would expect bugs to be in the park, but the other day this one landed on my shoulder and it was as big as a squirrel. I can't believe the darn thing didn't think I'd notice it, but I did and then I freaked out in front of these kids who were on a nearby nature expedition.
Is Hitchcock having fun with us? Is this some new-fangled terrorist plot? Where did all these bugs come from? Canada? How did they get so mean? Can we stop them? There's one crawling up my shin right now ... bugger.
I suppose the insect-repellent stocks will do well this quarter. I plan to douse myself in it and smoke big stinky cigars among a pyre of citranella candles until the first frost.
It's unsettling how many times this season I've heard someone say "wow, your blood must be sweet" or "they must really like you." And the affliction is never more apparent than on those poor girls who go to work in sleeveless shirts with red bumps lining there arms like heroin tracks. Some say bed bugs, some say it's a late season hatch, I say it's bloody Armageddon.
Is it tied to a meteorological event, a hurricane wind, or global warming? No suitable explanation has come forth, no formal investigation has been conducted. No one wants to run the risk of being bitten again, especially when they're already bugging about the war on oil and another September approaching.
Just now, one flew over my banker's lamp.
These pests are spawning faster than gremlins in a bathtub, even at the office where I work. It's unsettling when they land on the computer screen as nonchalantly as they did the black and white TV I watched growing up. They're in the bathrooms, the hallways, and the elevators. I got bit on the back of the thigh and on the Achilles tendon this morning. Vicious thugs -- it's hard to scratch the Achilles.
One would expect bugs to be in the park, but the other day this one landed on my shoulder and it was as big as a squirrel. I can't believe the darn thing didn't think I'd notice it, but I did and then I freaked out in front of these kids who were on a nearby nature expedition.
Is Hitchcock having fun with us? Is this some new-fangled terrorist plot? Where did all these bugs come from? Canada? How did they get so mean? Can we stop them? There's one crawling up my shin right now ... bugger.
I suppose the insect-repellent stocks will do well this quarter. I plan to douse myself in it and smoke big stinky cigars among a pyre of citranella candles until the first frost.
It's unsettling how many times this season I've heard someone say "wow, your blood must be sweet" or "they must really like you." And the affliction is never more apparent than on those poor girls who go to work in sleeveless shirts with red bumps lining there arms like heroin tracks. Some say bed bugs, some say it's a late season hatch, I say it's bloody Armageddon.
Is it tied to a meteorological event, a hurricane wind, or global warming? No suitable explanation has come forth, no formal investigation has been conducted. No one wants to run the risk of being bitten again, especially when they're already bugging about the war on oil and another September approaching.
Just now, one flew over my banker's lamp.