I've been intensly curious about you the past year and a half that I've lived in Mexico. Up North we don't have your kind and I've been terribly curious about you all and what it's like to be stung by one of you. I've asked all sorts of people and always enjoy the stories they tell about your silly anty antics.
My husband told me that when he was a kid they used to pick you guys up by your backs so that you couldn't sting the holder and run around chasing each other so that they could aim your fiery ass at each other and ..... well, make you sting somebody. Poor kids are creative.
I'm sorry to say though, dear fiery bastards that I am no longer curious about you. After being stung three times in the past week my curiosity is SATED and I'd appreciate if you'd stop educating me. I GET IT.
I guess I'd be a little pissed off too if all I did was work and never ever take a day off. I guess I'd be even a bit more pissy and a lot more retarded if my Dad was also my Grampa, brother and cousin. Maybe if you assholes stopped screwing ONE CHICK all the time - i.e. your MOM, Grama, sister and cousin all rolled into one - you might not BE so pissed off - and retarded. Inbreeding's not cool yo, in case you didn't get the memo, and if you get more than one chick, they won't be so worn out and busted I'll bet. Cuz damn. Just sayin'.
Anyhoo, I guess it's not your fault that my toes appear to be scary monsters, cuz yer retarded and all, but it still pisses me off that you've launched repeated attacks on them.
I should thank you though my dear little fiery assmonsters, for all at once I understand why it is that I live in land of concrete and why Mexicans insist on pouring concrete over every available surface and why nobody has a real yard. It took Chino and I over a year to find a house with a teeny patch of grass to call our own, and oh how thrilled I was to be able to move there! And now... not so much. Now I'm feeling rather Mexican-y and am dreaming concrete dreams.
They say the third times a charm and today after your third attack on my foot I've decided to make a trip to the Home Depot and come home with a little gift for you. I'm planning to go Hiroshima on your asses so consider this your warning.
I don't care if I throw down so much pesticide that my dog grows a third eye, mark my words, YOU WILL DIE. You and the ticks and beetles and everybody else are goin down and I'm going to stand by and smile the smile of a satisfied warrior, spray bucket in hand.
Shouldn'ta stung be bitches and you SURE AS HELL shouldn't have decided to take a detour off your path and run a scouting trail in my house last night. I was minding my own damn business trying to clean the house when I unsuspectingly ran across your little troupe and you all took offense. You stung me in my own house. On my own floor where sometimes my baby likes to hang out - or is forced to because these days she's figured out how to roll off the couch - but not how to brace herself for a fall. I'm not going to have the poor thing blissfully avoiding a concrete face-plant merely to be run-up-upon by a bunch of inbred asstankers ready to blow.
Tomorrow you die.
That is all.
Yours truly and sincerely with a heart full of hate,