R.I.P. Chucky

As I was driving home after having been trapped by hurricane Matthew, I remember being mindful that I would not take any of my suitcases or bags inside my house.

I had stayed in the Roach Motel for five nights and I was sure one of those dastardly little creatures had somehow weaseled their way into my belongings.  When I finally made it home, I hurriedly toted all the contents of my car straight into my house.  (I’m citing temporary insanity and eagerness to be at home.)

Sure enough, when I was emptying a plastic bag which held some of my dirty clothes, Chucky (a vile, nasty Palmetto bug) scurried out!  I tried to catch him but he was too fast and that little fucker made it into the kitchen.

I opened my back door and shook out all the rest of my clothes, determined to not allow Chuckys’ wife and children to take up residence in my house.

For the next several weeks, when I went into the kitchen at night and turned on the light, there was Chucky…sitting on the top of my dishwasher door….like he owned it!

He was taunting me….laughing at me while he wiggled his antenna and it looked as if they were keeping time as he mockingly sang “na na na na na…I’m in your house now!”

I don’t have any bug spray because I don’t have any bugs (except the occasional stinkbug that finds its way inside when it starts getting cold and believe me…they are called stinkbugs for a reason.)

I have heard that those little cocksucking Palmetto bugs multiply faster than rabbits.  Every night, he would be sitting there…laughing at me.  He might as well have had Leonardo DiCaprio’s face because he was obviously saying “catch me if you can” and I’m sure he was simultaneously sticking his tongue out at me.

I got my fly swatter out and took a swing at him but he scurried under the counter above the dishwasher.  He was bold…this one.  I think he had done this before.  After my futile attempts with the fly swatter, he didn’t even bother to run anymore…he knew he was too fast….or I was too slow.  He just sat there…watching me.  I think I heard him call me an idiot but I’m not sure.

Last night, Chucky was there again….interrupting my mental affair with Wentworth Miller, who was planning his prison break.  Once again, I got my trusty fly swatter but this time I didn’t swing.  I crept close, which was easy as Chucky was secure in his agility and Houdini-like expertise at escape.  Instead of swinging, I swept the fly swatter along the top of the door and off he came!

With one mighty stomp, Chucky was reduced to a blob of wings, antennae and guts on the kitchen floor!  I grabbed a paper towel, scooped up his remains and did a happy dance all the way to the garbage can.  Now I was the one doing the taunting and laughing.  “I knew I’d eventually get you, you little fucker,” I said.

R.I.P. Chucky.  Your ancestors might survive a nuclear holocaust but you won’t be around!