Friday, August 21, 2009

A Letter to Satan's Insects

Dear Fire Ants,

I'm from a place called Canada, I'm sure you've heard of it, since you have cousins there. Your Canadian cousins, are who I grew up with. They're much bigger than you, and fatter and they know that real beer does not have the word "Budweiser" on the bottle. They're also friendly, and having encountered hundreds, if not thousands of these cousins of yours over the years, I can assure you that each enounter was a friendly one, where said cousin crawled on me, tickling me slightly, and then was placed back down to me as I marveled at the amazingness that is nature.

You, however, might be the bitchiest bastards I've ever met. Now, I do realize that you might have taken my plopping myself down in the grass yesterday to possibly be a terrorist air attack. My boobs do look like missiles in my fantastic Victoria's Secret boulder holders. And sure, I did rest my right wrist right on top your nest, but let's be honest, your signage? Not exactly obvious. Nowhere did it say "DANGER! Approaching fire ant nest, approach at your own risk" or "Welcome to our nest!" or "You bitches going to die if you get any closer to our nest."

I can understand that you thought my intent was to destroy your nest, after all, my five-foot three height would probably make me appear to be as large as Godzilla to you.

But seriously? Did it ever occur to you to ask before maliciously throwing your army on me and biting me so much, that my wrist ballooned up to the size of my calf? I mean, most people would say 'hey, dude, this is my home over here, you mind moving before you crush my new plasma tv? Much obliged!' I guess your Queen never taught you manners, did she?

And I guess you and your friends aren't most people, are you? Most people wouldn't make my wrist look like I have leprocy or am going through puberty, because my wrist has close to 30 pustules today that look like giant white heads. And this? Is not the professional image I'm going for, especially when my underwear was sticking way out of my jeans on Wednesday, and I'd managed to tuck my shirt in said underwear at the last trip to the bathroom. At least everyone was aware that all of my good underwear was in the wash that day. The point is that you suck.

You're mean, you're vicious, and I'm pretty sure that out of all the ants, you have the worst BO.

What's made you so angry anyway? Project Runway's back on, there are many more days of summer left and the world has found out what a creep Jon Gosselin is.

At least I should thank you for staying away from my baby and taking all of your anger out on me. But seriously? Next time I see any of you little bastards, I'm setting your f'ing nest on fire, I'm not even kidding you. You want war, you little six-legged punks? I'll give you war. I spit on you and your stupid little venom. Trust me, you don't want to mess with me. I'm French, we eat snails and cow tongues. Don't make me name you the next thing on the national French menu.

No love,



pam said...

I moved, in part, from Florida because of the damn fire ants. I had 2 1/2 lots and could not keep up with the nests.

And my poor dogs kept getting bit and would look like cyclops the next day.

Aiyee Fire Ants Hate...

ps. thanks for not posting pictures. i cannot relive the trauma.

Stacy said...

This post literally had me laughing out loud. Love it!

I'm a photographer, and once, while doing a photo shoot out in this big field, I sat right on top of a fire ant nest. And received over 30 bites on my ass. And stripped my pants and underwear off on the side of a busy road in front of my clients to get them all off me.

Oh, the joy. And my butt itched for a week, and that's not exactly something you can scratch in public.

You have my sympathies. ;o)

Susan said...

I am so sorry and so glad to have read this blog this afternoon. Forget snorting stuff our my nose - I sharted.

Haphazardkat said...

My ex grew up in Colorado and has an extreme hate of all ants due to those stingy six-legged punks :)
I never understood why he would suddenly shriek, "ANT!" and go running into the house for my can of hairspray and a lighter.
He'd spend the next hour gleefully frying any ant in the vicinity.

I now. Understand.

Oh and..the shirt tucked into the underwear?

Poltzie said...

OUch, I've never even seen a fire ant but they sound horrible! 30 bites - really?

How could something so small be so mean?

Maddoxies said...

As a fellow Canadian (and former resident of Montreal), I can relate to your experience. At least up here Deer Flies are honkin' big, so you know they are going to take a coin size piece of flesh with them.

I wonder how fire ants would go with Poutine???

They need the late Queen Mum to straighten them out and teach them manners.

A's Mom said...

You need to find Diatomaceous earth, fossilized remains of diatoms, a type of hard-shelled algae. Basically, it's glass to the little suckers and when they get it all over them, they take it back to the nest to shred the rest of the vermins! It's lovely. Used it all the time in San Antonio.