While my wife is awesome, the rest of her family is afflicted with what science calls the dull gene, and I never realized how much I needed television, the Internet and headphones to drown out their soulless banter.
Thankfully, alcohol doesn’t need electricity to function, so after a half day of fishing, digging a hole for people to shit in and listening to stories each less entertaining than the last, I decided to power-chug the rest of my bottle and let a little nappy nap sort things out.
When I woke up a few hours later, I couldn’t stop scratching and after my wife groomed me like a good momma monkey, she found six ticks and enough mosquito bites that I looked like a lychee fruit.
As I tossed and turned in our goddamned tent that night bored and itchy, I couldn’t help but wonder, why in Christ’s name haven’t we exterminated the pests and vermin that plague our planet?
Our forefathers almost wiped out the American Indians with muskets and diseased blankets, and you mean to tell me we can’t fuck up a bunch of bugs.
Mosquitos alone transmit dengue fever, yellow fever, West Nile, malaria, chikungunya, and now the goddamned Zika virus, and it’s time for these things to die. During World War II, Korea and Vietnam we dropped over 22 billion pounds of bombs on our enemies, and that’s exactly what we should do with these little pricks.
Load planes up with tons of insecticide, start carpet-bombing and don’t stop until we’ve shortened the lifespan of every living thing on this planet.
Otherwise, we should just start screwing with their DNA so they have a bunch of retarded mutant offspring and die off.