F***ing, C***sucking Cockroaches

The number one thing in the world I hate, despise, and abhor more than poverty, illiteracy, prejudice, torture and unwanted facial hair COMBINED: sonofabitching, buttfucking, asslicking cockroaches. How DARE there be a cutesy cartoon version in Wall-E!? I officially detest Pixar’s art department for implying that those godforsaken cretins could have any redeeming qualities.

It’s painful even to write about the motherfuckers. But! I was just fishing for topics, and the universe—bitch that she sometimes is—threw one my way. Literally. I went to my closet to find a cord for a hearing aid device, and I pulled down a box from the top shelf. I haven’t visited that box since we moved it here from Cucaracha Villa, the rental house we shared with four million roach bastards last year. When I retrieved the box, I knocked down an old make-up container, which had a partially opened zipper.

A millisecond later, I spied out of my eye corner a ginormous, black behemoth scurrying across the closet carpet. My usual spastic fit ensued, which my husband and daughter noted with the blithe expressions of flush septuagenarians nursing juleps on the fucking veranda. You know, they could have moved their asses because that cocksucker isn’t going to kill itself.

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