Don't Like - ANT INFESTATION

Guest Post by Logan Corcoran

Ants. Ants everywhere. Every ant in the entire world is converging upon my household this summer, and they all wish to see me dead. Why else would they be terrorizing me? For my crumbs? Those are mine! I’m waging battles on no fewer than three separate fronts at any given time. The kitchen, my office, not even the bathroom—where I am often completely nude—is sacred enough to be left untouched by these slimy bastards. They’ve even found a way to infiltrate and infest-trate my dreams. Every night my subconscious (Vorbewusstsein, to Freud) is filled with terrible premonitions of 15,000+ ants lifting me from my marital bed and booting me out on my ass. The bedroom is theirs, and it's only a matter of time before the ecstatic moans of my wife ring out from behind the locked door. I haven’t slept for days. But here’s the thing: even though I do not like ants, I respect the hell out of them. I come alive matching wits with nature’s Beelzebub, locked in a no-holds-barred total war for all things holy and righteous. The wife thinks my crusade has become a “worrying special interest” (her words) that’s negatively affecting my relationship with others. Sorry, toots, but I don’t have the luxury of worrying, for each moment I’m away from the frontlines, the enemy draws nearer still. Unfortunately, my War On Ants is nothing more than a fool’s errand. They’ll be here long after I’m nothing but a skeleton of bleached bone upon the shores of time i.e. dead. Living comes naturally to them. Alas, cursed as was Sisyphus, I continue dumping money into the Raids and Terros of the world to fuel a never-ending economy of devastating solutions that never solve anything, other than kill a lot of ants. Whatever. I guess they were here first.