I live way up in the mountains surrounded by nature. And maybe you don't know this about nature, but it is super buggy. We get the normal bug fauna of wooded areas: spiders, ants, hornets, door-to-door salesmen, but the most prolific and horny of all (besides the salesman) are the boxelder bugs.
Here is a picture of what I see every time I look out my kitchen window.
They're up all night to get some.
They're up all night for good fun.
They're up all night to get lucky.
Except imagine that on a window. And then triple it. And then triple that. And then open a can of beer and cry.
These little bugs are annoying as hell, but completely harmless. Sometimes I swear they look at me with an almost animal intelligence -- right before I crack their carapaces open with my fingers and a paper towel.
There are so many of them! And they mate everywhere. They have no sense of decency. Last month in my garage window there was a conga line of them, butt-to-butt, stretching from sill to sash.
I don't mind them when they are in the garage, because I don't have to see them that much, but when they are in my house? No. Nope. N-O.
They like my kitchen the most. Not by the food and pantry area, praise Saint Tryphon of Lampsacus!* but over by my sunny picture window. And I can't reach them! I watch them and pound the window, "Hey, knock it off, you guys!" but they completely ignore me.
I don't like to use too much insecticide, so our main line of defense has been constant vigilance and the use of my Dyson handheld vacuum cleaner (the terrifying Whirlwind of Doom, as named by the boxelder-elders).
In the past I have employed my children to be my own personal death squad. This is the assassination pay list I made for my kids a few summers ago:
WANTED DEAD OR DEAD DEAD
Adult Bugs: $0.05
Bugs "Romancing:" $0.10
Cute Wittle Baby Bugs: $0.25
This method worked for awhile, but then my kids grew up and realized that a nickel wasn't a lot of money.
Fun Science Facts:
- Boxelder bugs have the magical ability to walk through walls and windows.
- Their lives are short but full of wild orgiastic sex.
- They are not afraid to crawl over the corpses of their lost comrades.
At some point in their ancestral past, the boxelder-elder tribal chief declared my kitchen window sill to be the final resting place of his people. Compelled by a deep mystical instinct, the bugs cross through a gauntlet of furniture, vertical walls, and floorboard fissures. If they make it to their mecca, they say a few last words, piss a minuscule droplet, and flip over onto their backs and die.
And then they dry up and their legs fall off.
But they die happy, knowing that their eggs are safely glued upside-down on my ten-foot-high ceiling, ready to hatch and drop baby bugs onto my unsuspecting arms.
As they lay dying on my window sill, the boxelder bugs achieve nirvana as they listen to me, the giant ogre lady, screech and fall onto the floor in paroxysms of very mature and warrented hysteria.
*Patron saint against insects. Yes, I googled it. What.