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I awoke at eight o'clock this morning to find myself on the receiving end of a full on cockroach onslaught. This beast was obviously armed with an unquenchable thirst for my blood and it was quickly becoming apparent that no amount of flailing and girlish shrieking was going to stop it.

It's was an interesting sensation, having those six legs scurry over my bare chest, and made me appreciate waking up to the racket of my alarm clark on a much deeper level. Since I wasn't wearing my glasses, therefore making me legally blind in three states, I had to first identify the blurry threat before I could create a strategy on how to deal with my pre-coffee assailant. Was it a mouse? Nope, too small. Was it a spider? Nah, not enough legs. Was it my Uncle? I Doubt it, I haven't seen him in years. I could make out just enough legs and antenna to correctly identify it as the "Periplaneta Americana", which when translated into English means "Cockroach of Doom". That's a loose translation, of course.

After calming myself down with visions of miniature Snickers Bars and former high school classmates on fire, I collected my thoughts and proceeded to strip seventy percent of the sheets and blankets from the bed in an attempt to locate the critter and watched angrily as it took cover underneath a nearby furniture. After about ten minutes of trying to coax it out from the depths of the dresser-turned-makeshift-insec t-fallout-shelter, I had almost given up hope. Then that's when the creature made a fatal mistake by rearing it's ugly head for a split second in an attempt to taunt me a second time, I acted instinctively, forgoing the can of Raid I had on hand, and instead haphazardly slammed that sucker into oblivion with my shoe.

Normally I don't get an ego about things, but since I was now a certified badass I threw my hands in the air in a manner that would have made Rocky Balboa feel lazy. Cleanup tissue in one hand, roach-coated sandal in the other, I knew at that moment what it must feel like to be the Pope. For that split second I was bigger than The Beatles. For that moment in time... I was the Walrus. I was the the one. The Roachslayer. All insects within a two mile radius quivered with fear and lost control of their bowels.

In an adrenalized rush I had the room put back together in thirty seconds and prepared to leave for work.
One roach down.
Only a gazillion more to go.

Learn more about this author, Weston Locher.
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