vituperation

July 7, 2002

Why yes, yes I am.

It was the best of trips; it was the worst of trips.

The beach was stunning, a brilliant white that reflected the sunlight like oh so many diamonds. The gulf was phenomenal, warm and emerald with three-foot waves that were perfect for body surfing. The seafood was incredible (except for the oysters, which were kind of gross), so fresh you could still smell the Gulf on it. It was a very romantic trip, and that is especially what made it so wonderful.

I met someone new. A female someone.

I didn’t mean to fall for her, it just happened. It was truly love at first site, and I don’t think I’ll ever be the same. She’s perfect in every possible way.

I fear my marriage may be over.

She’s beautiful, and she loves me as much as I love her. She goes out of her way to do whatever pleases me, and I give her gifts and shower her with affection. I swear, I think she’d jump through hoops for me if I asked.

She’s short, only about 5 feet tall, but she’s lithe and slinky and in far better shape than I am. Her eyes are a deep brown, and her skin is perfect, blemish-free. She smiles at me constantly, her eyes dancing merrily as she sits in my lap.

Robyn has asked for a divorce, and I’m inclined to accept without a fight. She got sneaky, you see. Robyn, I mean. She followed me, and she brought the camera.

And caught me kissing my new love. On film. With that kind of evidence, I can’t fight at all.

I only hope my new love won’t forsake me for another man.

Here’s some of the evidence Robyn is planning to use in court:

An intrepid reader from the great state of Texas wrote to inform me that Stone Phillips is NOT Canadian, but Texan. I checked on the Internet Movie Database, and she’s absolutely correct, he’s from Texas City, even.

Those damn Canadians’ll lie about anything, won’t they?

So I decided I’d better change out the Bag-a-bug bag this morning, because I haven’t changed them since Tuesday.

What’s a Bag-a-bug, you ask?

In the deep south, we have a problem with some pesky little fellows called Japanese beetles. I mean, these things are worse than Australians for being annoying. Close your mail client, you Aussies.

And they LOVE roses. They LIVE for roses. Japanese beetles do nothing but eat and shit, pretty much, and they’re somewhat impervious to most pesticides.

Enter the Spectrum Group, and their wonderful Bag-a-bug. This thing is wonderful. It’s a little baggie, a wire holder, and a tablet laced with female Japanese beetle pheromones. The male beetles, being the horndogs that males of most species are, smell the pheromones, fly to the trap, and fall into the bag.

And they can’t climb out, so they die slowly and (hopefully) painfully of starvation or, given the current weather, heatstroke.

Anyway, like I was saying, I decided to swap out the bags, because after a few days they start to smell like rotting beetles and aren’t nearly as effective. I’ll leave you with a couple of pictures of what I found waiting for me in my back yard.

Nasty, no? I collected almost SIX POUNDS OF BEETLES from the three traps I have around my house.

And my fucking roses are still getting eaten, dammit.