It’s almost comforting knowing how I’ll die. I am liberated. If I want to go skydiving, I’ll go. If I want to eat a gallon of ice cream while singing “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” I’ll do it. If I want to pick a fight with someone with more tattoos than skin, I’m going to bust a bottle over their head and giggle because I understand inevitability. I’ve been given a gift in the form of this freedom. I know how I will leave the world so now I can do whatever I want because I know how my all-too-short story will conclude. You see, there is a wasp nest in my backyard.


Two wasps went in, and six came out. I may have skipped almost every day of the last math class I took, but even I can tell understand that those extra bugs had to come from somewhere. I’m a bit of a recluse so I don’t talk to my neighbors much. Now I have new neighbors, and there are a few thousand of them stuffed in a hive nestled in the dark interior of a barbecue I’m very glad to never have opened. Since learning of my new neighbors, I haven’t been able to stop picturing how they’d take me out. Maybe I’ll forget about them and get ambitious with a steak. Then, when I pry open the metal gates of their fortress, they’ll burst forth and swarm me, a blanket of stinging, vibrating carnage. Or maybe it’ll just be one of them. It’ll be night, and I’ll be dozing on the floor with mouth wide open. It’ll be a stealth mission: one wasp, one kill. They know I’m allergic; they know my one weakness.
I’ve thought of what I should do about the monsters living in my barbecue. I could throw a trash bag over the entire thing and tie it closed at night while they’re sleeping–if they sleep. Then, I think I’d just wait them out, treat it like a siege. I’d want them to suffocate slowly, trapped in a cloud of their own exhalations.
There are two holes into the barbecue, only two ways in or out. I could plug one with some tape, then they would be vulnerable. I could shove a hose into a gas canister, and siphon gas into the grill. Once they’re properly drenched in the repurposed liquefied dinosaur bones, I’d throw a match on them like an action hero. And of course, I wouldn’t look at the explosion because I’m a proper Bruce Willis type. My only hesitation is that the immolated insects might make one last surge and smother me in a flaming cloud of their sizzle-popping bodies.
I could hire an exterminator, but that doesn’t sound like me at all.
I could hire two exterminators, and stage a coliseum-style deathmatch. I’d lock them both in the yard, the barbecue wide open, the wasps furious at the desecration to their home. I’d have told the wasps in advance all the cruel things each exterminator had said about their queen. It would be a fight to the death, exterminator against exterminator against death cloud. Maybe alliances would form, love might grow, backs might be stabbed. I could have Game of Thrones in my backyard.
The option I find most likely is a trial by combat. The hive and I would each pick a champion. The queen would find her most bulky wasp warrior. And I would dawn my duct tape armor, tape thumbtacks to some brass knuckles, and not go gentle into that good night.

When the wasps defeat me, when they great insect champion pulls from my allergic hide their stinger–now tempered by my blood–I have only one request. Remember me as I was: generally unhappy, sometimes funny.
Dear god. Wasps find their way into everything, don’t they? They were hiding in the siding of my parents garage. My friend was once being targeted by a wasp (no doubt an inside job) and he backed against the wall hoping to be safe. He was stung in the back.
It seems these little devils are meant to torment us. How else are you going to barbecue?
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That sounds like the well-orchestrated attack of a professional wasp hit squad. When will these monsters be stopped!
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Only when we stand against them. Maybe it will take us stinging them individually one by one to finally send the message!
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So it shall be. Let the great war of our time begin!
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We shall not let the stinging beasts stop us from grilling feasts!
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Viva la barbecue!
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Just one word of constructive criticism. Maybe it’s just the way your post shows up on my iPhone, but what I’m seeing is black text on a fairly dark gray background, making it a bit of a challenge to read, at least for my old eyes. I don’t recall your other posts using black text and behind hard to read. Did you change your font color?
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Oh thanks! I have no idea why it was doing that, but I think I’ve got it all fixed now.
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MUCH better.
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Ugh, I’m not allergic, but I am borderline phobic of those little jerks. Is there someone who can take the whole nest away? I know they do it with beehives.
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I don’t know of anyone brave enough. Maybe I should hire a bounty hunter
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Not a bad idea. Or get some chickens…live ones. I’ve read that chickens eat wasps, as well as ticks.
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I’d get some, but I’m worried the wasps would domesticate them. Can you imagine a swarm of wasps riding a flock of chickens? The carnage would be immeasurable
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That is hysterical! We had a wasp nest in our pear tree and my husband plotted and planned like Wylie Coyote to kill the wasps. But it was all for not. A raccoon who wanted a pear took out the nest. Completely ripped it to shreds with his paws. My hero!
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If you have that raccoon’s contact info, I’m in the market for a furry hitman
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He doesn’t carry a cell phone, but I am pretty sure he just lives in the tree across the street.
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I’ll keep an eye put. These wasps need to be put down and a fluffy little bandit is the perfect one for the job
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That must be the most populated yard I’ve ever heard of. Whatever you do, I hope you win the battle!
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It’s quite the busy place. You wouldn’t know it from all the weeds and serenity, but it’s a horrifying battleground
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It sounds like a place people should buy tickets to visit. Something tells me you wouldn’t be very happy with that.
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The idea of people paying to watch me is definitely in my top 3 greatest fears. Right next to deer and dying
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