As we speak, we are going to war with the wasp nest.
Rachel pointed it out a few days ago, hanging underneath the garage's eave, about the size of a small cantaloupe. She had a plan involving waiting until the wasps left and then replacing the nest with a paper bag in order to convince the wasps that they didn't live there anymore.
Rachel, however, is not here, and we are Men of Action.
Bryn is wearing a football helmet and has a baseball bat and the garden hose in his hands. I am wearing a catcher's mask and chest protector, armed with a can of hairspray and a lighter. We have escape plans and defenses set up, and we expect nothing short of Total Victory.
This is what happens when you leave us alone for the weekend.
Speaking of infestations that need to be eradicated: apparently we're coming up on the 10th Annual Gathering of The Juggalos. Helicopter Rides! People On Stilts! Cheeseburgers and gangrape in the woods!
I ask you: where's the government with their smallpox blankets when you really need 'em?
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