I hate bugs, especially those that bite, sting or shoot venom from their butts. And we have a saying in the South: if it flies, it dies. So when my wife spotted a ginormous wasp nest in our backyard, I quickly went off to Home Depot in search of weapons to attack my deadly nemeses.
(By the way, "ginormous" passed Spell Check. Apparently it was one of Merriam-Webster's new words for 2007. And yes, I realize that I'm 2 years behind on my "new words" list.)
I came home with two cans of wasp spray, but after some extra reconnaissance work on the wasp nest, I didn't feel like that was enough fire power for the job at hand. This wasp nest was huge! So as a precaution I also got out my electric bug zapper tennis racquet.
Armed to the teeth, I covertly approached my prey by silently sneaking behind bushes and trees, stopping to scout out the nest's activity every so often. Each can of wasp spray could reach up to 27 feet, so once I was 26.5 feet away I knelt on one knee, shook my first can of wasp spray, then took aim.
Banzai! I yelled, hoping to God that wasps are deaf.
Those poor bastards didn't know what hit them. I doused those suckers until I was sure that if the bug spray didn't kill them then they would at least still drown in the liquid acid pooling beneath their nest. At least twenty wasps fell from the gigantic nest to their deaths, and I took individual potshots at those that moved. But four wasps decided to make their final stand.
This was no time for the spray, as now I was locked in deadly arm-to-stinger combat. The wasps took evasive maneuvers as I threw my empty can at them, but once they reformed their attack I was waiting for them... with electric bug zapper racquet in hand.
The first wasp attacked high, so I acted like I was serving a tennis ball. Pete Sampras would have been proud of how hard I knocked the bejeezus out of the wasp, and Andre Agassi would have been proud of the spark that occurred when the electric bug zapper caused the wasp to explode on contact. (And hopefully Anna Kournikova would have been impressed.)
"15-Love" I told the wasps in my cheesiest voice. "Your serve."
Zap! "30-Love. You guys really suck at tennis."
The next two wasps hesitated, which gave me time to backhand one. I announced to the final wasp that the score was now "40-Love" but then explained that I didn't understand why the first two points were 15 and 30 but the third score was 40 instead of 45. The final wasp lost some altitude as it shrugged, and that put it in range of my Super Slam finale.
"Game set match, bitches!" I yelled, as I tracked down more wasps to kill.
Who knew tennis could be so much fun?
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