Eatin' Wood
I'm pulled out of sleep this morning by a loud dental drilling sound accompanied by an unfamiliar male voice, right outside my bedroom window, discussing the mass extinction of an "entire population of . . . ".
As it turns out, our two-car garage is infested with arterial passages full of termites. BUGS!! Little see-through critters like baby moles. They're glutting themselves on the delicious, mushy wood of our garage's 1930-era, untreated shelving units.
Seeing a big, swarming mass of insects flips that switch in your amygdala that makes your brain experience "phantom bug contact" all over your body. The yelling of "WHUHH-AUHH", shortly followed by arm-swinging and one-knee-raising-goose-steps, is sporadically induced for hours after the sighting. Adrenal-pychotic heeby jeeby bouts are no way to start off the morning.
It was decided that Melissa's art work (the work) needed to be moved out of the garage. I picked up a box full of cloth houses, and was half-way into the house with it, when she screamed for me to stop, put down the box and get it the hell away from the house. The entire under-side was covered with unspeakable horror. I dropped it and did the creepy bug dance for awhile.
All this seems pretty unmentionable now, though, because my smoking porch time that followed was interrupted by a sour sight. Why, oh why-why-why, would someone put a TOOL sticker on their rear-windshield directly under a see-through Jerry Garcia head?
As it turns out, our two-car garage is infested with arterial passages full of termites. BUGS!! Little see-through critters like baby moles. They're glutting themselves on the delicious, mushy wood of our garage's 1930-era, untreated shelving units.
Seeing a big, swarming mass of insects flips that switch in your amygdala that makes your brain experience "phantom bug contact" all over your body. The yelling of "WHUHH-AUHH", shortly followed by arm-swinging and one-knee-raising-goose-steps, is sporadically induced for hours after the sighting. Adrenal-pychotic heeby jeeby bouts are no way to start off the morning.
It was decided that Melissa's art work (the work) needed to be moved out of the garage. I picked up a box full of cloth houses, and was half-way into the house with it, when she screamed for me to stop, put down the box and get it the hell away from the house. The entire under-side was covered with unspeakable horror. I dropped it and did the creepy bug dance for awhile.
All this seems pretty unmentionable now, though, because my smoking porch time that followed was interrupted by a sour sight. Why, oh why-why-why, would someone put a TOOL sticker on their rear-windshield directly under a see-through Jerry Garcia head?
posted by Matthew Pazzol at 7:39 AM
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