Today I was planning to write about something of crucial importance to our world. Like America’s dependence on foreign oil or how come those jackasses at Target switched their fountain drinks from Diet Coke to Diet Pepsi, inconsiderate bastards. But then, a few minutes ago, that all went out the window because when I was just out in my front yard, minding my own business and simply trying to spy on the neighbors a little, tragedy struck.
Or, more specifically, the mothereffin’ fire ants hiding in my flower beds did.
Now, after their savage attack, I have itchy, stinging bites on my feet, my arms and, quite possibly, my cankles. I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin. And the worst part is, I didn’t do ANYTHING to them to deserve such horrible treatment. Well, besides dumping all of that poison fire ant killer on the yard, but still. I thought they’d see that I’m a good person and instead go bite someone who really deserves it. Someone like that hairy guy down the street who has 200 NRA bumperstickers on his truck. I mean, I’d bite him myself if I could stand the taste of skin and Drakkar for more than a second.
But you know what, Ants? I’m strong. I’m tough. I can handle this. What’s a few hundred cc’s of poisonous ant venom to me? You don’t know WHO you’re infecting, you stupid ants. In fact, I once–whoops, hold on. Just feeling a little bit itchy here. Let me take a deep breath and it’ll pass. Whoooooo. There, that’s better. OK, now where was I? Oh, right. One time when I had a job interview to be the assistant to Skippy on “Family Ties”…oh, God. There it is again. It’s like the worst itching I’ve ever felt. But I’m not going to scratch it. NO, I CAN NOT SCRATCH! I CAN NOT SCRATCH! Because if I do, it’ll just get infected, right? Isn’t that what Dr. Oz says? So, I’m just going to igno…SHIT! What the hell, you evil ants? I am SOOO itchy! What’s in your venom, anyway? Napalm? Agent Orange? Frickin’ Tang? Man, this is just completely fuc…whoooo. Calmness. I am calm.
So, anyway, there I am, telling Skippy, or Marc, that’s his real name, few people know that, how I always thought Mallory was a bit of a…OH, CRAP ON A CRACKER, MY FEET HURT LIKE A LOUSY BITCH! DAMNDAMNDAMN! DAMN YOU ANTS! DAMN YOU TO HELL!! YOU KNOW WHAT? SCREW THIS “TURN THE OTHER CHEEK” BULLSHIT! I’M GOING TO GO MEDIEVAL ON YOUR LITTLE OVAL-SHAPED FIRE ANT ASSES RIGHT NOW!! SOMEBODY HAND ME MY FOOD PROCESSOR! MOMMY’S GOTTA GO PUREE SOME EVIL!!
And…I’m back. No big deal. Nothin’ to see here, people. Just had to go bathe myself in some hydrocortisone cream for a few minutes. But you don’t think they really mean all those warnings they put on the tube about not using more than one tablespoon at a time, do you? That’s just so they don’t get sued, right? Anyway, I’ve decided that I’m just going to remain strong now and not scratch myself. I know I can do it. I do practice yoga, after all. Kundalini. So, now that I’m back to normal, let me just expound for a few minutes on my picks for this year’s Nobel Prize and then I’ll…OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! YOU SONOFABITCH ANTS!!! I’M ITCHY!! I’M SOOOOO ITCHY!! I’M OFF THE CHARTS IIIII-TTTTCHHHHYYYY!!! AND I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!! I JUST CAN’T!!!! WHERE’S A TREE? I NEED A TREE!! I NEED A DAMN TREE!! PINE! MAPLE! BONSAI! I DON’T CARE WHAT KIND IT IS! BUT ONCE I FIND ONE, I’M GOING TO GO RUB MYSELF AGAINST IT LIKE A METH-ADDICTED GRIZZLY BEAR!!! AUGHHH!
Well, that’s it for this week. I guess I didn’t get to enlighten anyone about what’s going on in the world too much. But let me leave you with just one last thing: if you’re planning on going outside and standing on an ant hill, be sure to wear socks. Trust me on this.
Now I’m off to go find some sandpaper and vodka.