There is a cockroach in my room. On the floor. By the cupboard. I’ve been watching it for the past two minutes without taking my eyes off it. Watching is probably the best verb, goggling won’t do, ogling definitely won’t do. I tried to determine if this thing has wings and immediately, I was flung into a momentary attack of unfortunate recall of the night in Mumbai when my house was invaded (that sounds pardonable), but then also my bed and my blanket (that demands enforcement of capital punishment, namely beheading surely) by these wretched flying creatures who might i say in deep belligerent and emphatic tones,
had a PLAN.
I swear. Ah Fine. Pinky swear.
It would’ve worked too, the army slowly silently and methodically weaved it’s way through the drains in the kitchen and onto the bedroom at the far end of the house, had it not worked. I have reason to believe my sister was in on the plan and is a human-roach halfblood of some kind infiltrating the human race better than Al Qaeda ever did. How else can you deign to explain the behavior of this otherwise imperceptibly meticulous halfblood who is more likely to collude with filthy brown roaches than filthy brown termites, leaving the drains of the kitchen open that day. Co-incidence? I think not. These drains as is well known to any aware individual of today are pathways to the lowest rungs of hell, the underworld filled with dark nasty gruesome creatures which are basically these roaches learning to fly and once they do, being awarded with wings as a merit badge by the guiding light, distinguishing them from the other roaches on the creepscale. This kind of hegemonic social structure is inevitable in any society, especially the pluralistic roach society. So anyway, she never left the termite drains open, why this one? Sick to my stomach with this enlightening piece of realisation, I have been keeping a very sharp suspicious eye on her over the years and have concluded not much other than the fact that she gains fat proportional to the amount of nonsense she blabbers squared and inversely proportional to the cube root of the amount of junk food she ingests. This further confirms, if nothing else, my belief of her covert interplay with the roaches. She is not, I repeat, NOT a true blood. So if you ever do happen to meet her, kindly walk by before your life is crawling with roaches.
All this I managed to scour over in about a millisecondth of a millisecond and for the rest of the millisecondth in milliseconds of the two minutes, my sensory perceptions of the worldview overtook and I simply, like I previously explained, watched the roach in my room. On the floor. By the cupboard. Not goggling, and definitely not ogling.
The cold ice between the roach and me was not very surprisingly broken by my sister entering the room at THAT very moment (wink wink?) I was willing to bet the hair off my skin by now, she was one of them.
Again, not very surprisingly, the damned brown thing twitched it’s whiskers and shifted it’s weight to turn to her.
It struck my exceptionally clever and talented brain right away, that if I do not act soon, the entire human race may collapse into being trapped into genie bottles gifted to those roaches who please the madam president of the roaches. Imagine, us, Genies!? Holy Christ.
Not on my watch.
Out of all the outcomes, all the possibilities, all the prophecies, I cannot let THIS one happen. I can endure the thought of
- the Pyria prophecy – the human race being deep fried by the photon racers baked into slimy mac and cheese,
- the Sasquatch prophecy – the human race being stomped upon by the choleric great grandfather of Bigfoot for a bad haircut service or even-
- the whackashell Zuria prophecy of being kicked off the galaxy for not learning from our own mistakes and continuing the free and protected survival of apes and monkeys, or even-
- for overdue of taxes in the form of the global currency- gluten free beer that we need to pay to the galaxy to continue living here.
Out of all this, imagine, US, being enslaved into genie bottles by our-once-domestic-pets. Sightly discomforting, eh?
So being a computer programmer, I did what I do best, I google-power-searched “What to do when your sister is conspiring with kingdom Cockrochea?” WikiHow, however, at this crucial as hell juncture for human civilization failed me. As correctly propagandized by the elders, technology is proving to be the cause of impending doom, I thought with a deep unsettling in my stomach, as if the shrimp I had eaten today morning just came back alive again in it.
I was on my own.
Even after having built (inherited, my humble consciousness corrects me) this brilliant piece of shit after millions of years of backhunching research and sweat and toil, in this moment of ultimate destruction, inspite of this polemical piece of technology, this computer, I was being prodded to use MY OWN BRAINS!
Since these replicating roaches are incredibly hard to get rid off unless you are extensively trained in armed combat, and even if you are, you can get rid of a couple few but while our stupid as fuck race has been busy toiling and boiling building the computer in all sizes and forms all these years, their races outsmarted us by overpopulating their underworlds to an extent that exceeds us humans and thus outnumber us ten to one now. Brutal. So much for military defense and nuclear warheads. You would probably have to have access to the arsenal of the ENTIRE U.S. marine corps to wipe out the family of roaches currently residing in my kitchendrains.
But whatever. They had to be taught a lesson, you don’t mess with us. We will fucking piss on you, you goddamn idiots, each and every one of you. So the next day i packed my bags and moved to another apartment.
The human race is now safe for the time being till my sister is found by the roaches again and their plan can proceed execution. Meanwhile, people… better get busy repopulating the earth.
We owe so much to our beloved planet.
P.s.- those prophecies are all a figment of my imagination. Do not quote them elsewhere and risk abandonment.