Fire in the legs

I've got these little bites all over my right leg. Well, not so little bites that are taking days to heal.

They're nasty.

They're from fire ants.

Welcome to Florida.

Startling as the vampire like holes in my leg were the over-sized flying cockroaches. Fat flitting roaches. How fucking unfair is that? Nature cursed us with roaches to begin with, then gave them wings that are certainly not vestigial and asks us to be kind to her? Fuck that. I'm giving up my green ways until She rethinks this monstrosity. There is also a sub-tropical variety that isn't repelled by light as most roaches are. Quite the opposite. In yet another slap to the human face, nature has decided that the relative safety bright light provides from these insidious home invaders no longer applies. In fact, this particular sub species is attracted to light.

Next time you hear that bump in the night and go to investigate with your thirty pound baseball Maglite, reconsider. Those noises you hear, the clumsy stumbling over the garbage can, a whispered curse, are not produced by a potential burglar. They are the genesis of a trap, designed to get you to open the door and turn on that overpowered flashlight, sealing your doom.

So fuck nature. Screw recycling. I'm sick of rinsing cans and sicker of the mess left at the bottom of the container when I fail to do it. Fire ants and dive bombing roaches the size of a golf ball. I'm gonna go out and fill my tank with Super Duper Unleaded Environment Murdering Gasoline, and see how She likes that. Fucking bitch. I'll get you for those horror show bugs.

Well I'm off to the beach. Not a cloud in the sky, light breeze in off the Atlantic, temperatures slightly higher than I'd like, but pleasant nonetheless.