Note: this entry contains strong language, and deservedly so. (A post-dated entry for yesterday (with no vulgarity) will be up this afternoon.)

So I'm working along, minding my own business, when the dot-matrix printer runs out of paper. No problem. I was a boy scout. I'm prepared. I have another box of printer paper ready to go.

But when I carry it into the office, I notice that it's crawling with ants. "Ew," I think. "I thought I left these motherfuckers behind at the old house."

"Look at this box," I tell Tony. "It's crawling with ants. I hate those motherfuckers."

I flip the box over, break the strapping, and pull it open.

The whole fucking box has been converted into a nest full of motherfuckers!

I have opened an ant bomb. There are ants everywhere. There are ant larvae everywhere. It's fucking gross.

I carry the ant-filled box to the back door, but the door is closed. "Open the door, Tony!" I say as the ants pour out of the box, onto my hands, up my sleeves. I hate these motherfuckers.

I plop the box onto the back porch, pull off the lid. I don't have any spray, so all I can do is watch hundreds of the motherfuckers race around. I come back to my office to get my new cell phone (with built-in camera). When I go out to take a picture of the mess, the ants have dissipated, have already moved most of the larvae. How do they do that so quickly?

First a skunk, now a nest of ants. What's next?

I wish I'd had the presence of mind to look for the queen.

(For further reading on my adventures with motherfuckers, check out: Dead Ants, Peace Talks (one of my favorite entries), Buggy, and Ants of Mystery.)

On this day at foldedspace.org

2003 — Knee Update #37   Both my physical therapist and my doctor are pleased with my recovery. The knee is healing well, and my muscles are beginning to develop, though slowly.