---FINAL BATTLE---
A little over a week ago, relishing sweet relief from the aforementioned incessantly chirping motherfucker of a cricket in the daylight (for they only chirp under cloak of darkness, as their shadowy credo demands), I decided to cook a nourishing supper. A well seasoned steak and potatoes topped with unhealthiness being the only option, of course.
As I'm preparing this feast of men, a smoke alarm that I never knew existed (as I just moved in) decides to go off. As is there is little smoke, I'm confused; however, I disable the smoke alarm with successive blows from my mighty fists and open my doors for good measure. Problem solved. I enjoy my feast as I celebrate my dominance over lesser beings.
Across the room, the long-legged noise factory senses an opening and moves in. Jumping like the asshole he is, he takes cover in the corner of my dining room. I eat happily in bliss towards the infiltration....and then I hear him. Things are broken in my search for him. Angels overhead cheer for my mighty cause.
And then I see him. Beady little eyes, freakishly long legs, mocking me with his very existence. He lets out one last cry - "fffuuuckkk.......yooouu----" and I smite him with my shoe.
Final score -
Ghandi - 1
Motherfucking cricket - 0
....
Or is it?
After my battle, I have killed no less than 13 crickets in my dining room. I thought nothing of it, however, as I assumed they were merely pissed that I killed their beloved leader. Let them come, they are weak without him.
And then, yesterday, I heard him. Same hallway. Same fucking chirping. SON OF A BITCH.
