Seconds later, it was two dead mosquitoes. Still in hump position.

I cannot tell you how grossed out I feel right now. I do not like pine needles moving on me, and turning into insects.

Ew. Ew. Ew. I hate bugs.

Well, at least I just stopped a few hundred more mosquitoes from coming into the world.

A MAN who lived in his own “zoo” of lizards and insects was fatally bitten by a pet black widow spider — then eaten by the other creepy-crawlies.

Police broke in to Mark Voegel’s apartment to find spider Bettina along with 200 others, several snakes, a gecko lizard called Helmut and several thousand termites had gorged on his body.

Neighbours alerted police after becoming alarmed by the stink.

Via Hot Air.

And while I took a breath to recover and shudder a bit, Tig wandered over to the kitchen and said, “Hey, there’s something under this cup,” causing me to shriek “Get away from that! Out! Out!” and causing him to say, “What-EVER. Geez. Crazy human.”

Then I studied the cup, sure that the cricket was big enough to start moving it like a turtle’s shell, trying to figure out what to put under it so that the cricket wouldn’t get away before I got it out of the house. A nice, stiff piece of cardboard, I thought, but y’know, there’s never any cardboard around when you really need it. So I went to my clutter shelf, and decided that a CD would do. Myst? Nah, I may actually play that thing again someday. Five-year-old TurboTax? Perfect. In a soft plastic sleeve, too, so it’d fit nicely under the cup. Slid it under, decided back door, not front, and then picked up the cup, with the cricket fluttering madly inside. Out we went, to the edge of my patio, so it couldn’t fly right back in the door, move CD, throw cup madly so cricket is flung away from the house, then retreat quickly indoors.

Yeah, go ahead, laugh. But while you’re laughing, go check out this picture, and let me assure you that the cricket was a good two to three inches long, and I could see every little bit of it while it was standing on my butterknife, presumably eating the butter on the end of it.

This is why I have a bugs category. Summertime in Richmond is filled with bugs. And may I say: Ew.

Quite frequently you can see a drone – either pro-Israeli or anti-Israeli one, repeating ad nauseum the same tired slogans, sometimes of their own manufacture. Trying to argue with a drone is a useless and a thankless enterprise – anything you throw at one in the way of logical argument will be simply ignored, the stream of slogans continuing uninterrupted.

Sometimes the incredible stupidity of a drone gives birth to an especially entertaining statement that will leave you agape for quite some time.

I was reading a passage in an excellent post by DrMike of BlueTruth:

2007: A Palestinian refugee camp is the target of indiscriminate shelling by the army, in its attempt to root out a band of fanatical Islamic terrorists. Civilians flee for their lives and condemn the terrorists. The Arab League itself blames the terrorists for threatening the country’s security, safety and stability. However, the United Nations remains strangely silent and the world media have not run the blazing headlines about atrocities and massacres.

Could it possibly be that the world only cares about protecting terrorists if it’s the Israeli army that’s attacking them? The Arab League statement made it very clear why it can condemn Fatah al-Islam: the group “has no relation to the Palestinian question or Islam”.

And then I remembered an exceptional in its slack-jawed imbecility (but relevant to the above) passage by a commenter that figures under the nickname Goodfairy in the gutters of Commentisfree:

As for “they can be pounded ruthlessly and mercilessly by the Lebanese army and the entire world remains silent”. Well, for starters I doubt you are comparing like with like; this isn’t the democratically Hamas, this is 200 cultists who have taken over a Palestinian Camp and (according to Robert Fisk) are shooting the fleeing Palestinians in the back. So they are probably CIA controlled.

Yep. You see, dear DrMike, you cannot win them all. In fact, you cannot win a single one of them, and their name is Legion (of imbeciles, but still).

Cross-posted on SimplyJews.

Because she was busy vaccuuming her tree.

Why, yes, I’m serious. It’s Sarah’s eco-friendly solution to the tent caterpillar problem in her yard. She’s hesitant to use pesticides for many reasons: Four children, two Dachsunds, and, well, pesticides are poison. No two ways about it. She had hoped the freeze last week would kill the caterpillars, but nope, they were wiggling around as soon as the sun hit them the next day.

So she had a eureka moment with her Shop-Vac, and tried it. You can follow the story here, complete with pictures of what the caterpillars looked like after being sucked up into the Shop-Vac. (Oh, go, the picture isn’t nearly as gross as she described it to me. And don’t forget to put your mouse over the picture for Sarah’s note.)

Brrr. This one had, like, eight-inch legs.

I showed it the door. Twice. It tried to come back in.

Ew.

Well, last night, I went to sleep. Late. But about thirty minutes after I fell asleep, something woke me up. I kept hearing a noise, a very repetitive noise, and it sounded like Gracie was grooming her claws. Sometimes a cat makes a clicking sound as they clean their pads and pull on their claws. This one was loud, regular, and coming from the side of my bed. Tig was sleeping to my right, and Gracie was nowhere to be seen, so I yelled at her to settle down. She ignored me. I grabbed a flashlight because I don’t think very clearly when I’m woken up half an hour after I’ve fallen asleep. I saw nothing. No Gracie, nothing. I turned on the light and saw the beetle, which then tried to make a break for it.

I did not save it for Gracie. I threw it in the toilet and flushed. And went back to sleep, without any annoying clicking noises going off three feet away from me.

Ew.

He was hiding on my microwave when I thought I’d lured him out.

He’s gone now. Catch-and-release. He didn’t really fit inside the cup. That’s my 16-oz. plastic cup that I keep for the Yourish Catch-and-Release Program.

Tig let him in. Stupid cat.

Stupid cranefly.

Me? I was standing outside the kitchen shouting things like, “Look out! He’s after you!” and “Don’t you have any bug spray?” and “Tink, get back! No, get out of the kitchen!” Which was better than Sorena, who was cowering behind me complaining about Giant Mutant Wasps attacking and getting ready to run. Finally, I told Heidi that any ammonia-based cleaner would work, as I have killed wasps with it at my apartment. So she got some Windex, waited for the perfect moment, and when the wasp landed on the light shade, she sprayed it. Got it really good, too. I was expecting to see the wasp fall to the ground.

It flew away. Up to the ceiling. Fast. That was when I advised Heidi to hide behind the glass doors with me and see if anything would happen besides the wasp buzzing around in angry circles. We pretty much gave up on it, closed the doors between the kitchen and the Great Room, and Sorena started her cello practice. But I kept watching the wasp, and saw that it was flying far more slowly and lower to the ground. So I went around to the other side of the kitchen and looked for it.

“Heidi,” I called, “does my chair have a black spot on its side?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“I think I found the wasp.”

Heidi came over, saw it was indeed the Giant Mutant Wasp, and, armed with flyswatter and Windex, this time, conquered and destroyed the pest.

Well. At least we got the wasp before G. came into the kitchen for a snack. We forgot to warn him there was a Giant Mutant Wasp flying around the kitchen. It’s bad enough the poor guy had an abscessed tooth this week. A sting from a Giant Mutant Wasp would have been just too unfair.

I looked up at the light tonight because there was a lot of moth activity, and I hate letting moths in my apartment. I saw an orb spiderweb. Didn’t see much more, but we shall see if she’s returned.

I am far too tired to write any more. I stayed up late last night. And the night before. And the night before.

Can’t sleep in tomorrow. Hair appointment. Okay, I can sleep ’til nine or so. But that’s it.