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You know what? Fυck it. I'm just going to go straight to the point.
Here's the deal: I hate-no, abhor!- the little demon bugs we call roaches. My despise for them has gone beyond the definition of phobia. Instead, I hold a deep detest for those little fυckers deep within my heart. If you know me personally, then you would already know the shit I go through with roaches. It's as if I'm playing a real life Spongebob-Squidward relationship.
About a week ago, I was in my history class, learning about the War of 1812 and all that good jazz. My classmates already know that if I see a roach, I will burn the building down, then proceed to pull a Peter Pan and fly the fuck away. So, you should already know that the fact that my classmate told me he was going to tell me something, but I first needed to 'calm the fυck down' first had me thinking the worse and do the opposite. I looked up and whoopdee-fυcking-do: God has graced my soul with the company of a roach. On the ceiling. Right directly above me. ABOUT TO FALL. I'm not going to tell you exactly what I did, as I'm not exactly proud of my reaction, but let's just say that after that day, anyone who tells you that humans can't take flight is lying.
To this day, I can never step into that class without doing a full scopeout, and whenever someone touches my shoulders, I freaking jump to the other side of the room.
And then there goes the other time at my house.
During spring break, I was rushing to complete a report for Spanish class (the language of the devil). I'm enrolled in a International Baccalaureate magnet school, yet ironically they give us students work a fifth grader can do instead of actually giving us work for us "college-bound students". So when my bitch of a teacher suddenly wanted me to complete a 12 page report with a story in a week my procrastinating ass, needless to say, was in shock.
Anywho, it was Friday, and I was on the computer, juggling the little time I had to play Minecraft and complete a report on Pablo Picasso when I got a slight itch on my arm. Now, mind you, I hadn't taken a bath quite a long time, so I initially dismissed the itch as a sign to take a well needed shower. But you see, for us extreme katsaridaphobics, we have a roach sonar embedded in our subconsciousness, so my stupid ass reasoning for the rather mobile scratch lasted only about three seconds before my roach senses practically destroyed the lucrative thought.
I looked at my arm, and a three inch roach was rearing its ugly tentacles on my arm. My fυcking arm.
Now, keep in mind that I live in South Florida. These mu'fo's fly.
I got up, screamed loud enough that they glass cup next to me cracked, and flung my arm so hard the flew roach across the room fast enough that you can practically hear Vin Scully say it's outta the park!
Do I need say anything else?
I wish I would say these occurrences happen once in a blue moon. Unfortunately, these incidents are just two of the countless times I nearly got arrested for arson.
Who/what came up with the grand idea to put these abominations in the planet? Bugs, in general, have pros and cons; but it's like Mother Nature thought it would be would perfect to take all the cons of bugs, fυck it up into one horrifying animal, then shape it into the two-inch bastards we now call cockroaches.
Blattaria. I hate them with a fury that not even the depths of hell can withstand. About 200 species of plants and animals go extinct everyday-why couldn't all of the species of roaches take part in this, too?
