I just murdered an entire civilization of ants. Big black ants that had decided to move into my kitchen and set up camp. So, I did what any self respecting person would do, I poisoned the shit out of everything. I set some bait traps up in the kitchen, and after waiting a few hours I sprayed the perimeter or my
house mobile home with poison.
That seemed to do the trick.
Then I told my friend about my epic adventure battling the terrible ant hoards. It went something like this.
ME: Ah, nothing like spraying the house with deadly neurotoxin to get rid of that ant problem.
SUPER BEST FRIEND: Ah, nothing quite like drinking a beer and wiping out a whole society.
ME: Eh, they had it coming, I'm fairly certain they were Nazi ants.
SUPER BEST FRIEND: I'm sure they were. Why else would they being trying to take over your kitchen? First the kitchen, then the house, THEN THE WORLD!
ME: I'm fairly certain they said something about 'just wanting Poland.'
SUPER BEST FRIEND: Lol.
Yeah. So after the genocide I decided to get drunk because I had just rid of the world on ant Hitler. And also I realized everything in my body hurt from moving rocks.
There is nothing quite like getting drunk by yourself in a empty poison filled mobile home in the middle of nowhere*.
I think that was the most depressing sentence I have ever typed.
Yes. I think that was.
*Scott was away, but he's back now so don't think you can just come murder me.