|
|
Tuesday |
| Unlike
Jonathan Richman, I don't have much love for mosquitoes. I kind of feel bad about it but I'll still slap 'em to death every chance I get. The internet tells me they're the deadliest animal and only the female sucks blood, which she finds by homing in on carbon dioxide exhalations. Then there are flies. Last week we had a little infestation in the bathroom. I must have smashed 50 juveniles in one fevered session with a rolled-up newspaper and another two dozen the next morning. They were small and slow, struck down in their prime I suppose. It was either them or me. I wish I had thought to film myself going after them. I must've looked a crazy man. Still, it was nice for that little while to have a clearly defined purpose, however murderous. Tough stuff, I know. But not as rough as the tome that did this bugger in. Does anyone do menace and mordant wit better than Bowles? (That is, when he's not writing about parrots.) |
 |
|