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2002-09-09 - 10:41 p.m.

This evening I was watching a movie and decided that pizza would be nice. So, I baked one. Impressed with my ability to handle my needs, I removed the pizza from the oven and sliced it. It was too hot. So I moved it back from the counter to the stove. I used the restroom. I watched maybe 5 minutes of the movie. When I came back to the kitchen, ANTS! A massive undertaking coming from must below the kitchen window, across the sink, and to where sat maybe a few crumbs. It was insane. I overreacted a little bit. I donít like insects. They scare me. Actually, they cause me to lock up in fear, a chilled worthless hulk of a man, as opposed to the damp worthless hulk of a man that I normally am. However, seizing upon my little used emergency response training I went on the offensive, washing those in the sink down the drain. Then I used Clorox clean up wipes to get the rest, remembering from a horrid afternoon of watching a friend play Sim Ant that they followed some sort of chemical trail. Those ants are crafty. Remarkably, this seemed to work, as they have not been back. Iím afraid of my kitchen now. Itís the first time Iíve had a problem in there, and Iíve done baking and cooking for weeks. I once even let the dishes set overnight soaking. Because I made a cassoulet and needed to soak the pan. Maybe these are discriminating ants. Or teenage ants, bent only on pizza and other junk foods. A pretentious French casserole they turn their little feelers up at. But a DiGiornoís. Theyíre throwing a mad kegger and inviting all the relatives over. It was still traumatic. I donít think Iíll sleep well. Nightmarish visions of a huge phalanx of them swarming in and over me as I sleep will probably keep me awake. I imagine early tomorrow morning as the sun comes up on my petrified frame, curled up fetally on the couch waiting. Knowing they are out there. Actually, I have to stop. Before it really happens. I think Iíll try to find something on TV. Not the nature channels. Weíll stick to the Home Shopping network or something. A little QVC to dull my brain with innocuous hosts blandly selling cheap merchandise to undersexed housewives who order trinkets to make up for the lack of intimacy in their lives. Because that always makes me feel better.

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