Bugged!

My sister reports that for the past few days, tiny red ants have been plotting a coup to take over the apartment. They were spotted all over the sink, and after having cleaned up the sink in an effort to take away their food source, they've taken to infesting the garbage. Little sister had enough, and proceeded to drown the little buggers with a toxic combination of dishwashing liquid and kitchen cleaning aids. (I wonder why she didn't use the bug spray? They are bugs, aren't they?) It seems to have worked so far, but we are pretty sure they've been regrouping and are planning an all-out assault in the next few days.

As if ants weren't enough, I've recently spotted a dead cockroach underneath the couch. It's dead, no big deal, right? But what if it was murdered, even a victim of a mob-hit? Then that means that there is at least one more cockroach on the prowl, a more bad-ass one at that! I could see it now, a notorious syndicate of roaches right under pipes and in between the walls, antennae-deep in crime from smuggling bread crumbs from the neighbors to forcing their red-ant bitches into slavery. Oh my...

*****

Another report from little sister: a mouse was spotted in the premises. It seems to have taken up residence somewhere in the kitchen, judging from what seems to be its droppings underneath the sink. I procrastinate, hesitant to call on the mousetrap until actual proof of the mouse's existence has been confirmed. Lo and behold, while making my way to the toilet, there it is, scampering across the floor in all its furry glory.

I hold my bowels in, having been insulted by the audacity of this rodent's existence. I get my mousetrap and bait it with a piece of dried fish's head, setting it behind the stove. Then I take a crap.

*****

I called up the slum lord, maybe they can put a stop to these unwanted guests.

"Did you count how many ants there were?" The lady on the other end of the line asks.

"Uh, no. Should I?"

"Can you give an estimate?"

"Hmm, 237? That's the body count. My spies haven't provided me with a report on the number of survivors and possible new recruits behind the walls yet."

"Uh-huh. How about the cockroaches?"

"Wait, lemme check... no, that isn't on the report either. Body count is one, so far."

"And only one mouse, correct?"

"Affirmative."

"Ok, then I'd have to advise you that as stipulated on your lease, you are allowed only 300 ants, 20 cockroaches and 4 mice at any given time inside the space. Otherwise, you'll have to pay extra."

"Where the heck does it say that?"

"On your contract. The fine print."

"There's a fine print?"

"Yes sir, at the bottom."

"There isn't any there! I checked!"

"Check again, sir. You signed right over it."

"What the... you mean there's something written under the dotted line?"

"It's not a dotted line, sir. That's the fine print."

"Oh."

"It also says you are charged for each call you make to this number. And that you cannot flush dead mice down the toilet."

"Oh but I didn't..."

"You did sir. It's on our files."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"We know everything, sir. Everything."

"Everything?"

"Lemme put it this way, we have a running bet on how many times a day you watch porn on your laptop. I placed my bet on 5."

I cut the call short, opened my laptop and watched Pirates II all over again. That bitch wasn't going to win that bet today, damn it!