BeeGate 2005 Update #1

After a week of contemplating things , denying things, and changing my cooking habits to the oven and Croc-Pot, I went to the hardware store and purchased the necessary bee-killing items (Hive-killing spray that is good from 20 feet away, gloves, hearty laughter from the outdoor appliance customer service personnel), which no home should be without. I then proceeded to stalk my prey as my incredulity grew. Then, the muse hit me in the face with a 2 x 4.

I elicited pity from my landlady, who got the apartment fixer-upper-guy, Dale, to take the risks, and stings, and spray for me...in the middle the day (the most active time for the winged-demons)! Today I returned from work to find a service receipt indicating he had, in fact, sprayed the tap-dancing Christ out of those fuckers. Alas, however, the story does not end there.

I ventured forth to my balcony to survey the carnage and maybe crush a few carcases underfoot. No such luck because there was not a bee in sight, though the nest glared at me through the hole in the valve cover. It was right about then that I heard the most awful sound in the world: the loud, high-pitched buzzing of a pissed off, sting-ready insect. I turned to run and hit right into the source of a the noise: A GIANT FUCKING ANGRY WASP!

So I yelled and sweated and felt my heart race faster than and louder than the rolling thunder from the five hour storm from Monday and Tuesday. That an insect smaller than...okay, it was a pretty damn big wasp, so never mind.

I yelled something heroic like, "eiiiiiiyaheea!" and jumped inside. AND SO DID THE FUCKING ANGRY WASP. I slammed the door only to hear the horrible buzzing again. Is it possible to hear that sound, the sound only a giant angry WASP can make, and not feel panicked? Thankfully, the WASP took out its anger against my window, saving me time to calm my heart and think of a plan. Quickly, I grabbed a thick magazine and rolled it. But that wasn't enough. So I threw an old dish towel over my shoulder for backup. But that wasn't enough. Then, the muse again! I wet a washcloth, balled it up, and, very quickly, pulled back the blinds. The WASP didn't move, it just stayed perched against the window, ready to strike. I took a few paces back, keeping eye contact at all times, and threw the washcloth for all I was worth.

DIRECT FUCKING HIT. THE WASP IS DOWN! THE WASP IS DOWN!

But it wasn't enough. I slipped on my sneakers and stomped the holy hell out of that not-so-angry-any-more WASP. But it wasn't enough. I then covered the washcloth with a heavy phonebook, and the shoes. And that is where the big, dead fucker currently resides.