This also signifies the end of entrenchments between myself and the never ending ant army. I believe they realized sometime ago that they met an admirable foe and are just standing by until the changing of the guard. They have show of force marches from time to time but dare go no further than the driveway or patio. As for the earwig faction, I’m of the opinion that their numbers were decimated and moved on. I find the occasional wig but it has never been enough to warrant a report to command. I can only hope the new owners have an appreciation for seven legged spiders and a healthy fear of the other bug.

More importantly this also means that sweltering and sticky corner of Alabama is nearing the horizon. Rumors of what to expect are flying at Mach 4. I’ve received more advice from people that have never been through the WOC program and even some that have never been to Rucker! You know how hard it is to keep a straight face through that? One would think my body is wrought with excitement, but pain is the better descriptor here. I’ve begun a workout culled from Basic and AIT exercises learned last year and hurt does not begin to describe what I feel. My triceps are screaming bloody murder, my abs revolt every time I blink and my lungs incinerate with each intake of air. God, I love that ache-filled feeling of a new workout!

So as this chapter plays out its final pages, the questions and heady anticipation of what to expect in the next chapter begin to play hide and seek not only with me but all of you as well. Care to join me?

I just discovered the other night that these budding arachnologists had invited themselves into my place in search of that mythical septachnid over a year ago. I, myself, have not even seen a septachnid since the original incidences. In fact, I had long forgotten about them. So what do you think the odds are of seeing one immediately following the dinner where I found out a quest in the name of science had been conducted at El Diablo?

What? You don’t believe me! Ah, but I have corroborating proof and two eyewitnesses! Then again, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t believe these two witnesses either when they put out stuff like this!

Nonetheless, there is still the photographic evidence. Caught on film for the first time ever, The SEPTACHNID! All rights reserved. Patent pending.

Yesterday, the robotic arm on the truck, either in disgust from it’s dead end job or possible carpal tunnel issues, threw my can down with such angst that it broke one of the wheels off! When I arrived on scene, the missing wheel was nowhere to be found, and you’d be surprised at how difficult it is to drag one of these trash cans with only one wheel.

So I called the trash company for a possible replacement.

“Okay, just go ahead and leave your trash can out front. We’ll be out to fix it.”

“Wow, that’s pretty quick. Thanks.”

“Oh, I didn’t say tomorrow. I can’t really tell you when we’ll be out. Just leave the trash can out front.”

“Oh. I see. You can’t tell me because you’re really a clandestine outfit, or because you feel sorry for the cable company and want to make them look good?”

“I’m sorry, sir. We’ll be out when we’re out.” (she actually said that)

“Oh, no problem. I’ll just expect my trash can to be repaired between now and Chevy Chase’s meteoric return to comedy.”

“No, more like Carrot Top’s.”

“Touché!”

As the weather gets cooler, I have noticed more and more spiders finding their way into the house. One of those common jumping spiders found around here was interesting to watch. He would come out and greet me every morning from his perch on top of a model airplane on my desk. Always curious, but never aggressive, he could really move. I saw him clear a good 13 to 14 inches in a single jump! Anyway, a few days passed and he was nowhere to be found. I figured he had moved on or died, then he reappeared yesterday morning. Something looked odd, he wasn’t moving like his usual lithe self. Then it hit me, he was missing a leg!! I had to count again because I didn’t believe it either, but sure enough, he was missing a leg. Today, I found him lying dead at the base of the airplane and swept him into the waste basket without another thought…

That is until fixing dinner this evening. I noticed a house spider sitting on the wall above the stove and figured I would have to usher him out of the kitchen. Apparently he came to the same realization and started moving up the wall…awkwardly. I found that a bit odd, then he paused, and on a whim I decided to count his legs. The frellin’ thing had SEVEN legs! SEVEN!?

I see no way that these two separate events can be coincidental. Have the wigs and ants resorted to Yakuza like tactics in their campaign? Or is this yet another nifty little trick the Other Bug can do? Are you scratching your head in bewilderment because you still visit this blog?

After clearing the battlefield, I went about repairing the sprinklers and trying to find how they were getting into the system. They finally drew blood as I attempted to unscrew a head and the wrench slipped causing me to scrape my knuckle across the concrete. Took a big chunk of skin off too. On top of that, the earwigs rendered two sprinklers irreparable. They won that battle.

Today, I came back bandaged and ready for Armageddon. Replacing the two sprinklers, I went to test the system only to find that the wigs had clogged the repaired sprinkler again. I got Armageddon. Not only were the ants waiting for me, but it looks like they may have made another alliance…with a Luftwaffe! I don’t know for sure only because there were no acts of aggression toward me. It seemed the wasps were sizing their adversary up, buzzing in from afar and running high altitude reconnaissance.

Even so, the air wing distraction allowed a platoon of ants to swarm the sprinkler head. A futile attempt at best, but it made me realize this particular sprinkler may be important to them. Unscrewing the head, I found four, COUNT THEM, four earwigs ambushing me from the water line. One even got a pinch off, but my wrench finished him off in gory fashion (I think it had a vendetta for Friday’s atrocities). A quick order of feet finished the rest of the squad off. Now I know #4 is vital, but why?

As I finished clearing the suicide earwig from the sprinkler head, I caught some movement in the corner of my eye. By a freak stroke of luck I saw an earwig crawling from one of the anti-syphon valves for the sprinkler system and that’s when it donned on me. Running over to the valves, I unscrewed all three valves to find a mouse spider trying valiantly to stave off the wigs in one valve, their numbers just too many for him. The other two valves were entrenched with earwigs. I called in for the kill-o-matic spray and leveled the area. There’s enough pesticide in the anti-syphon valve area now to keep away small birds! I purged the system again once more for good measure and found TEN more earwigs in the line waiting to block sprinkler heads.

Thus ended the day’s battle for Sprinkler #4. Wet and battle weary, I was left with several thoughts. Why #4 is so important, I still don’t know. Recon shows the air force’s nest nearby, but not close enough to warrant such sacrifice. An ant hive may be closer and fearful of flooding, that would explain the quick arrival of the ant platoon. I just don’t know. I do know there were tens left dead today, and a patch of land left uninhabitable for all bugs. When will the madness stop? War is hell!

I return to base disgusted, frustrated, and with a truly morbid idea working it’s way to the surface. Would it be wise, nay, humane to unleash the ultimate weapon? I fear she would cause exceedingly too much devastation, but would it shock insect-kind enough to give up their mad pursuits?

I spent the better part of the afternoon yesterday repairing sprinkler heads that were attacked in force. You think I’m joking. The sprinklers worked fine until four days ago, then all nine of them suddenly started acting screwy. Odd, I thought.

I pulled the first sprinkler apart thinking a little pebble or something had gotten into the head blocking the flow of water. It had happened before. Wrong! There was something blocking the flow alright…a frellin’ earwig had crawled down into the head, gotten itself stuck, and died. Took me a good ten minutes to back flush the stupid carcass out of the hole. That bugger had really wedged himself in there, JUST LIKE ALL EIGHT EARWIGS IN EVERY OTHER SPRINKLER HEAD!!

Honestly, has anyone else ever seen this much of a concerted effort from insects to take over a house? What does this crooked little house possess that they covet so much? How did the ants coerce the earwigs into suicide missions, or is this just accepted in their culture?

The little subversion op didn’t end there either! Removing each sprinkler, I’d find tons of little white eggs lining the entire ring where the sprinkler meets the water line. On top of THAT, working on the last head, one of those nasty little buggers had the cajones to come out of hiding and pinch me. Laugh it up, those little pincers really hurt! I had no remorse in smiting Mr. Hero from the battlefield.

But wait, it gets better! After repairing the sprinklers, I went out front to finish watering the lawn only to find a sizable unit of ants marching through the front door! The audacity!! Getting out the “liquid death,” I ended that platoon’s mission right there.

Am I insane to think that these two pests have banded together? An Axis of Annoyance? Is the Other Bug their secret weapon? Can I possibly broker a covenant with the spiders in time? Do I have too much time on my hands?

Back in the Days of Virginia (2001 to early 2005), Beni (the Pissed Puerto Rican) and I decided to get a grill. Nothing fancy mind you, just something to sear the meat that piqued our interest at feeding time. Finding a suitable (cheap) gas grill, we then hatched the plan for getting OUR grill into the apartment without landladies or snooping neighbors busting us. Grills were not allowed on the balconies.

We lived in the back of the complex where it was usually dead, not a problem to do this quietly. So of course as we brought our baby into the world, everyone from the complex was there to greet us. Typical. We used a towel to cover the letters screaming CHARBROIL GAS GRILL on the box that was about as effective as using a napkin to hide the Statue of Liberty. Somehow no one said anything, but then I realized, much later, that that was because everyone else had a grill.

I had to laugh when we opened the box and right on the front of the manual in huge red letters was: Warning, do not use on enclosed balconies! I’ll ease the nail biting tension right here and state that we never had a fire or burned anything unwarranted.

Many good times were had surrounding our beloved grill. The first, and only, burning of burgers. Countless Halo playings. A very odd and impromptu New Year’s party. Movie watchings. Job bitch-fests usually hand in hand with drunk fests. The insurmountable pile of dishes to be cleaned. We even had a corner reserved for the vegetarian in the gang. All year round. In fact, it seemed like I grilled more often in breath seeing, wind ripping, snow falling conditions than summer fare. And every single time, I was proudly in shorts and sandals.

As all good things must come to an end, our jovial Virginia Days stopped with a fat man belly flop of a smack. Everyone went their separate ways and the grill followed me to California where it was shelved until last night.

After nearly a year of neglect, I removed the soiled and cobwebbed cover and brought life back into the fire breathing miracle. Hooking up the propane tank, I laughed as I saw the Chinese food container we used the very first night as a grease catcher. Hitting the ignition button I swore I heard “We Grill, We Grill!” Bygone days for sure, but that is this sordid tale called life.

The grill is once again open for business. Who wants some!

“What’d it ever do to you?”

“It’s creepy, just kill it!”

“Ah come on, it helps eat the other bugs in the house.”

“OTHER BUGS?!”

“Never mind.”

So when I’m cleaning the house and find a spider all balled up and dead, I find myself wondering how it died? Was it old age, starvation, boredom, just couldn’t go on the arthropodal way? You never actually see one go through it’s death throes, at least I hadn’t until this morning.

Visiting the bathroom for the morning ritual, I noticed a little guy scurrying across the floor. I didn’t think much of it other than where he was off to in such a hurry. About a half hour later, I revisited the bathroom to brush my teeth and noticed the little guy back in the middle of the floor. I kneeled to take a closer look and noticed he was slowly balling up. At first glance, I thought this may be an opossum defense. Funny, I didn’t think spiders did that. Then he kind of “un-balled” himself and took five steps, which isn’t much for a spider if you think about it, where he balled up again. Only this time he never moved again, except when I laid him to rest in the trash can.

This incident leaves me with several questions. What in the world is on my bathroom floor that can kill a spider, full of vim and vigor, less than twenty minutes later? Which then begs the question, should I be walking barefoot in said bathroom?!

Or my favorite question: What “other bug” is lurking in the bathroom that could kill a spider that fast?

She’s back! First, some background. The aforementioned amusement park turns the entire place into a haunt-fest during nights in October, rides and all. Often imitated, but never equalled, Knott’s Scary Farm was the first and has been scaring the bejesus out of people, young and old, for 33 years! Many people from the entertainment community go to work there solely for this temporary event. Costumes, effects, and props always seem to be top notch, but you really can’t care because of the “pull your brain through your nose with a rusty fish hook and then do a Spanish Flamenco dance on it” shrieks that continually come from the female companions you are indubitably with. God forbid if one of said female companions is holding on to you in any way, shape, or form. Then you’re in for a treat that makes Freddy Kreuger’s hand look like a flimsy spork! Oh sure, you think it’s cute and funny at first, but by the 42nd time your eyes are bleeding spinal fluid and you actually look like one of the monsters running around! It’s a great time, I recommend it to anyone. But I digress…

As I said, the bleep-er bleep-ing, bleep-rd spawn of a hamster and elderberry smelling father, the Banshee, is back and with a vengeance. She has bridged the gap and is now a diurnal thorn in my side as well. Knott’s main entrance is at the same intersection I turn to get into my housing tract. Right around 5:30 pm, the local police invade the area and shut down all northbound left turn lanes within a 5 mile radius of said intersection. Gee, what time do you think I generally get to this intersection?

After detouring through VICTORVILLE to get back to my place, I am finally safe until nightfall. Somehow, the mechanical shrills that emanate from Knott’s during the rest of the year are now amplified during the Halloween Haunt. I still don’t know the reason for this. Not only are they louder, they last much, much longer than 15 seconds. It’s almost a continuous low moan accompanied with constant shrieks that vary in pitch every few seconds. Rob Zombie would die in ecstacy.
Again, I thought this was cool, extremely malicious, but very cool nonetheless.

That is until I go to bed!! My skills at desensitizing and coma-induced sleep have betrayed me. I am able to fall asleep, where my subconscious (the biggest part of my mind) takes over and taps right into the ghoulish dirge, setting the tone for all dreams to come that night. These ungodly creations make George A. Romero’s worst nightmare look like an intolerably cute children’s book with a title like “Phil the Fluffy Squirrel and his Flufferful Friends!” Being in coma-induced sleep, I can’t wake up either!

The banshee is smiling one of those razor sharp, toothy grins with a single drop of blood dribbling down the side of her chin.

Happy Halloween, Blaah!

Sometime during the late nineties Knott’s Berry Farm was purchased by the Cedar Fair people. These are the guys that hold several of the world records in roller coasters. We’re talking rides that make you expel bodily fluids you’ve never seen out orifices you didn’t know you had. Fun stuff! Sadly, Knott’s doesn’t possess any of the record holding stomach wrenchers. Nevertheless, they have some pretty decent rides and even a few classics that warm the cockles of my inner child’s heart.

If I walk out to my front yard I can see the majority of these metal monsters and, at first, thought all was good…until bedtime arrived. As I beat the faux-feather pillow into submission and began to grab my forty winks, a horrific shrill that would put any death throe to shame, echoed through my room. Suddenly wide awake, I desperately sought to find the owner of this howl or did I try to hide from it? That’s not important. What the hell was that!? My God, there it is again! Wait, was that a mechanical swoosh buried in the shriek? AGAIN, there it is again, and yes that was a mechanical swoosh with a definite rapid “clickety-clack” also. Is this the apocalypse? NO, it’s the stupid roller coasters cranking and banking at Knott’s!!

I quickly realize that something I tune out or is drowned out during the day is now haunting the sublimely serene evenings roughly once every 15 seconds. I begin to truly admire and hate the engineers that design these rides at this point. They have created machines that cause people to scream either in sheer fright or delight that, when amassed into one voice, sound absolutely cadaverous. At least when one is in that state between the conscious and subconscious realms of sleep. I think I may have discovered a new form of torture! What must the people, nay, the children be like that have lived in the shadow of this nightmare for years?! Tim Burton suddenly comes to mind. Then again, after a few nights I’ve already adjusted and don’t even notice the banshee wail any longer. Now, if only I could figure out how to do the same thing with that little voice in my head…