The Death Cloud of Charmin

I swear to you that I'd never laid eyes on a Stinkbug until 20 years ago when I moved back to Ohio from Nashville. Never, not once. I remember the first time I saw one, albeit vaguely..."the fuck kind of bug is that ugly thing??"...or something along those lines. Slow moving, ugly and just plain creepy. How the fuck was I to know that they were staging a full on invasion? Again, I swear I'd never seen one of those things before. I dunno where the hell these things came from, but I fucking hate 'em. All of 'em. Every. Single. One. I'm okay with all of the ones who stay the fuck outside, but I think every one of those fk'rs is giving serious thought to coming inside at some point or another. So yeah, I hate 'em all. Outta sight, outta mind...

Which brings us to the last few Winters, when I find out that these creepy, ugly fuckers have made their way inside, like they do every year when the cooler air of Fall starts making its way in. Fuck these little ugly m'r fk'rs. I despise these creepy little fuckers. Every time I see one inside, my short term goals change - immediately. Doesn't matter what I'm doing, stop. Doesn't matter what I have to do, stop. At the top of my priorities right now is making certain that this creepy, ugly, slow moving m'r fk'r gets what's coming to him for entering my abode.

These little fk'rs have one thing going for them...well, actually, it works against them, but I find it rather appealing: they're slow moving enough to seal their own fate. Make no mistake about it, I'm going to move pretty fast - faster than I really need to, but now it's on. I don't give a single fuck what I was either in the middle of doing, or about to be doing. Pause that shit. Stinkbug alert. Oh I got this shit, believe me.

I head straight for the bathroom for a decent sized handful of toilet paper - don't have an exact number of sheets, but rest assured it's enough to ensure that none of the creepy little fucker that's about to die will touch my bare hands. No, I'm not going to catch and release the bastard outside - there's a price to pay for coming into my house - and that price is death by being squeezed into a fluffy white cloud of Charmin...no, a fucking DEATH Cloud of Charmin. Yeah, I said it. Worth noting is that I never get around to even thinking about how these little fk'rs smell. I've heard quite a few people say they smell like Cilantro. Yeah, you know what? Fuck that. I happen to love Cilantro, but I've never gotten around to noticing how these creepy home invading m'r fk'r bugs actually smell - they ain't gonna be here long enough for me to notice how they smell.

One stinkbug, about to die in a swirling cascade of water in the flush of a toilet handle...and it's back to what I was doing. Jeezus, I hate those little fuckers. All of this could have been avoided, the fucking Death Cloud of Charmin, the flush of a toilet handle-spiraling-cascade-water-death, hell, even the fucking swearing, had you simply stayed the fuck outdoors where your creepy ass belongs. I wouldn't have cared, wouldn't have looked for you and wouldn't have bothered you.

But, nooo...you had to come into my home. Make no mistake about it, I hate these little fuckers. What I hate more than seeing one inside my home, is hearing the slow, vibrating baritone/hum/buzz as one flies in close proximity to where I'm sitting or standing....VvvvvvzzzzzzzzzzzTPT! Oh it's ON now m'r fk'r, only now, instead of calmly heading for the bathroom, now I'm twice as pissed. Not only was that your last flight ever, but now I feel like single-handedly making all of you fuckers extinct. No one would give a single fuck. No one. Matter of fact, eliminating every last one of you fk'rs just make make me a national hero - I mean, seriously, who's gonna miss your creepy little asses? Fucking no one, that's who.

Sunday Reflections

It's Sunday afternoon - weekends don't really mean much in my line of work, but I am off on Sundays, and I rather like that. Coffee never tastes better than it does on a Sunday morning - albeit the later side of morning into the earlier side of afternoon. I'm not really one to let the weather dictate my moods, but I do love a sunny sky any time in Winter...not that I always get to pick that here in Northeast Ohio. It's here today though, and I'll take it - along with big, deep breaths of clean, cool Winter air.

Sundays and the aforementioned coffee make me think of a line a friend used to say when a waitress would ask if we wanted coffee: "Lots of it."

Ah, but that was years ago - never mind how many, or that "Lots of it" was the phrase that was going through my foggy mind as I shuffled into the kitchen. It's always best to have zero dishes to do in the morning so as not to have any hurdles between me and that first awesome cup of coffee. Note to self: Don't leave a sink half full of rinsed dishes from dinner like a dumbass.

This morning I'll openly admit that I was indeed a dumbass last night. It's an odd mindset to be pissed off at oneself and mentally reprimanding myself as I wash, rinse and dry my way through the domestic obstacle course that stands between me and my coffee - not unlike Brutus, the asshole who stood between Popeye and his can of spinach, getting in some m'r fk'rs of punches in before Popeye gets to his can of spinach, opens and downs it. Now is when the real ass whooping commences. Boom. It's on.

Now I have had my coffee, now I'm ready to whoop this beautiful Sunday's ass. Turns out my gym rotation lands on a workout today. I'll openly admit that I have an odd relationship with the gym as an older dude. How old? Well I'm not farting dust or wearing silver sneakers - but it's a bit unnerving to realize that exercise is something I can't stop, not that I want to...it's just that all the things that come with middle age pretty much follow one around like a bully waiting for just the right opportunity to take your lunch money. Miss a week at the gym and the magic that makes you feel so good after even the lousiest of workouts usually wants two to allow you to feel that good again.

I'm convinced that the mirrors at my gym were made by the same company that made the old school funhouse mirrors - you know the ones that made reflections of bodies look funny/odd in various ways of height/width ratios...but at the gym the mirrors, I swear to God, seem to accentuate every positive thing I hope to accomplish by working out. It's like, "Wow - I'm really coming along - fuckin' A...yeah, not bad for my body type/age....blah, blah blah."

The bad news is, none of that follows me out of the gym and is visible to others - particularly when I put my street clothes on and go about my day at work. No one sees me and thinks, "Wow, that dude must have killed it at the gym today." Matter of fact, if I told anyone that I even went to the gym - and I'll be honest, sometimes I tell hundreds of people on Facebook that I went to the gym, they'd probably think I left early. Incidentally, while I may post that I went to the gym, what I will never, ever post, are pictures of video footage of me at the gym.  You're welcome.Take my word for it, I go, I like it....some days better than others, some days I miss.

So this is my Sunday today. Done with the coffee portion of the day, a lighter breakfast and heading to the gym. After that I've got lots to do around here - none of which is exciting. I suppose there's no real point to this post, but for wanting to kick my own ass a bit and write more. There you have it, folks...a late Winter Sunday, a few deep breaths of the air that never feels cleaner than it does on days like this. Grateful, life is good. Peace out, good people - have a great Sunday.

CRO