Posted: Apr 28, 2006 6:14 pm
I was serving as an pest control technician below the mason dixon line when I came upon a 4 room shack in the countryside covered in moss on the north side and displaying the undeniable effects of prolonged moisture damage overall. A small negro family pointed me inside, where stepping back into the kitchen I sensed there to be a peculiar independent, flowing sensation in the walls and ceiling. It was mid-morning and realizing that I was not high on any illicit substances, I quickly took stock of the situation and discovered that perceived movement in the room was created by what must have been several hundred german cockroaches going about on their daily business. I dashed out to the truck and grabbed two spray cans of the nastiest insecticide in my arsenal--some vile potion that smelled like a monstrously evil, synthetically altered beer fart. It's mist could knock a roach over dead mid-run. When I returned, it was like Custer's last stand taking place in Manhattan and I had to constantly duck and move for fear of dead roaches falling all upon me. I barely remember leaving the shack and missed all of my following apointments that afternoon, aimlessly driving about the countryside, inadvertently high.
p.s. I hope the negro family is not dead.