Fleas Glorious Fleas

So I understand from reading the International Blog Guidelines (2007 ed.) that we’re supposed to write about our daily dealings in life, just as much as our random thoughts, so today I want to discuss a problem Robyn & I have been dealing with for quite some time now. Hold on, we’re going to get personal here.

I want to talk about fleas.

If you threw me in a room w/ Hitler, Ted Bundy, Satan’s brother, & Rob Lowe, I MAY have a better time w/ them than dealing w/ this whole flea experience. For starters, I clearly underestimated them. “Chevy has fleas,” Robyn tells me. “They’ll go away,” I say. Like that cricket that lived under the dryer over the summer. An annoying cricket, yes, but a lonely one w/ no food, no friends, no hobbies. I miss that cricket.

Fleas on the other hand were made for survival. These bastards go out fighting. Their last breath is followed by laying fifty thousand eggs, eggs that probably have the ability to screw one another while incubating, so that thousands and thousands of more eggs, invisible eggs I might add, are added to the mix, eggs that if you add water to them, a la Gremlins, will procreate. And so on.

[Speaking of Gremlins, what if Mogwai really existed on earth? We would have a mass infestation in a matter of days, maybe hours. “Don’t get him wet?” On a planet that’s over 70% water? That rains on a regular basis?]

I have vacuumed our basement so many times, it actually makes me angry typing about it. We have no carpet downstairs, so I’m really just vacuuming a concrete floor. Granted, a floor that needed vacuuming, what w/ all the dust, dirt, cat hair & pubes everywhere, but after the 120th day in a row of vacuuming, there’s REALLY nothing left to pick up. Except for fleas apparently, although I can’t see them. Fleas that hibernate for two weeks after the exterminator’s treatment, so you think “maybe they’re gone! Get the champagne!”

Then you see one slowly crawling up your leg, slightly dazed, not the sharpest flea in the bunch… and he bites. Tears swell up your eyes. Not because of the pain. It’s the mental anguish.

So we’ve had five treatments from the exterminator (the salesman initially told us it would take two & fleas be-gone!) and now he’s baffled. Robyn & I are prisoners in our own home. I’m at the point of solving the problem w/ packing the car, sprinkling gasoline throughout the basement, lighting a match, & heading to Pittsburgh.


3 Responses to “Fleas Glorious Fleas”

  1. Tom Sales Says:

    Couple of questions. Why Rob Lowe? Is it because of St. Elmo’s Fire or because Mike Myers loves him for some reason? Also, why do you have so many pubes in your basement? That seems like a weird place to keep them. And finally, why Pittsburgh? I thought you’d want to go to New York.

  2. agli0e0li0 Says:

    1) I’m not sure why Rob Lowe – he just has a look on his face that says “Punch Me.”
    2) Pubes are everywhere. Your pubes, my pubes, all pubes. Pubes.
    3) Pittsburgh’s been on my mind lately. Maybe because of the Ravens game. Or because of all the wonderful things Dad has to say about the city & its people.

  3. TamRock Says:

    Wonderful things about Pittsburgh?
    (don’t ask Greg – he’ll vote south… waaaaay south)

    It’s very bright there, though.
    Yunz know what I’m sayin.

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