Cricket woes
There’s been a cricket inside of my bathroom for nearly a week but I’m too chickenshit to investigate its exact wheareabouts. Every time I build up the courage to seek it out, it stops chirping, which is probably for the better since I have this fear that I’ll stick my head in the cabinet only to have the fucker leap in my face which would result in all sorts of screaming and wood chips in my skull. Anyway, the best thing for me to do is probably to wait until it dies and let the ant trail lead me to the carcass. With my luck, it’ll probably die in the tampon box, so I’ll give an update in a month or so.
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Comments
I know that’s not the case because the asshole popped out of nowhere when I went to the bathroom. I can already see my obituary: Dumb chink dies when lucky cricket scares her on the crapper.
Don’t worry - remember that you’re destined to die in a car accident. A little cricket couldn’t do any more than severly cripple you. * **
*wood chips in brain
**bad way to go
I f**king spelled “severely” wrong. I’m fired. Guess it’s back out to the street and giving handjobs for crack for me.
P.S.: Merry Christmas, Sadness.
I heard someone tell a similar story the other night, but then they realized what they thought was a cricket was actually their fire alarm which had run out of batteries. You might want to explore that potential solution.