Last night, Dick and I watched the Clone Wars DVD in preparation for our midnight viewing of Star Wars Episode III next Wednesday. Cliff was supposed to join us but it was laundry night. Right. So borrow his DVD we did, and we watched the 70 minute cartoon that bridges the storyline of Episode II and III in big-screen badness, while he was at home washing his tights.
But after the movie when Dick took off, I threw a bag of popcorn in the microwave and went to take the box that so did not contain The Original Whizzinator out to the trash. When I opened the door, two ginormous moths came in. These things were diminutive, but they were quick, and they were wily.
At first it was quite amusing. Watching them tire themselves out flying around my chandelier, I figured I would wait for them to get worn out and land somewheres, and then POW! no more mothes. Only when they landed, they rested above the window in front of the chandelier. 12 feet off the ground.
Yeah, I totally can't reach that. And they weren't moving. Meanwhile my popcorn is getting cold. I was pissed. Time to declare war on the little sumbitches.
I grabbed a shoe, and for some reason thought I could smack the wall and the vibration would get them to fly down to me where I could bludgeon them.
Didn't work. Crap.
My next idea was even more brilliant. I grabbed a big slab of foam core, a 24" tall piece, and thought I could reach them and get enough velocity built up behind my swing that it would, if not kill them, at least stun them.
Nope. Couldn't reach.
Getting resourceful, I took my socks off, wadded them into an Awesome Aerodynamic Ball of Death! and began throwing, nay, pitching it at the moths. I'm a little rusty, I must admit, as its been many months since I last threw a baseball. It took a few tries. But on that 29th try, I smacked one of them and forced him to fight fair.
And he divebombed me, pissed at me for rousting him so rudely from his peaceful slumber. For once I could actually sympathize with the worthless little mutant creep. For one brief moment I felt a smidge of empathy for it. Then I fricking killed it.
There was still one more moth on the loose. Still sleeping on my entryway wall, 13 feet in the air. I picked the sock ball back up and began chucking it at the little guy, and was much more successful because of all the practice I'd had with his buddy. Third try I smacked him. My arm was warm now so this thing had some real serious velocity on it, and the sheer power of it stunned the moth. He fell to the ground, where he twitched for a second or two. Until I smashed him into Bolivia.
While his supposedly dead corpse was posing for this photo, his remains started to twitch, as if he was going to come back to life as Mothra and destroy me. So I quickly snapped the photo, and closed the kleenex and squeezed -- and heard a distinct pop. That's not right with a moth. Shouldn't be a pop, there's no bones. That thing was a mutant! And I have eradicated it from This Planet Earth. I am Polyfro. Hear me roar, Mothra!
You bet.
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