Last Legs
There are cockroaches in my new flat. You only tend to see one at a time, and it's usually a dead one, but I know the invasion can't be far off. I'm hoping that my cats are bringing them in from outside, but let's face it - there's more likelihood of me keeping this blog updated regularly.
It's often said that cockroaches can survive a nuclear holocaust. Utter bollocks, although apparently they can live for two weeks with their heads cut off, which is quite impressive. I'd like to see Bono try and do that. I'd really, really like to see that.
Anyway, I conducted an experiment with one of the little fuckers. I captured a live one, sealed it in the smallest Tupperware container I could find, and shook it vigorously half a dozen times a day. I concluded that cockroaches can survive about a week of this treatment, although further experiments are needed to ascertain whether they die from lack of oxygen or from all their legs falling off.
It's often said that cockroaches can survive a nuclear holocaust. Utter bollocks, although apparently they can live for two weeks with their heads cut off, which is quite impressive. I'd like to see Bono try and do that. I'd really, really like to see that.
Anyway, I conducted an experiment with one of the little fuckers. I captured a live one, sealed it in the smallest Tupperware container I could find, and shook it vigorously half a dozen times a day. I concluded that cockroaches can survive about a week of this treatment, although further experiments are needed to ascertain whether they die from lack of oxygen or from all their legs falling off.
posted by hungbunny at 2:56 pm
18 Comments:
Get some stuff called parafilm. Makes a good airtight seal.
I'd do some other experiments concurrently, like take off all the legs before sealing them in, taking the legs off one side and seal, remove head and seal, remove head and not seal... be creative.
Obviously what you have right now is anecdotal. I'm gonna need something empirical before I try any Guerilla shit on my cockroach population, thankyouveryfuckingmuch!
Nick... is that you...quick before I trip over my cotton summer dress as I run through the meadow towards you... oh balls to that. I think it's nice that your friends have moved in.
Jair, Kristin - I was hoping that you people might assist with my research. My cat tends to eat most of the raw material, so I need all the help I can get.
Ness-rah! How lovely to see you! But who is this "Nick" that you are referring to? I don't and have never known anyone by that name. You are clearly delusional.
Obviously, then, you need to set up a cat-proof haven for breeding them. I'd suggest your neighbour's kitchen or roof. Or pet dog.
Of course I'm delusional. I'm running through a meadow in my own head. Either my head is of enormous proportions... on the inside... or my cats have finally taken the plunge and spiked me. I'm sure your insect friends wouldn't do it to you, it's just something about cats. Plotting, planning, feline terrorists.
HB, have we learned your real name by accident?
Also, I am about to move to the Land of Huge Roaches and Palmetto Bugs (giant flying roaches), so I may be able to conduct some experiments of my own. The place is apparently so infested that you can not find an apartment that doesn't offer free exterminator service with the cost of rent. (Not that I expect exterminator service to work, though, hence experiments.)
Jair, the flat next door is above a chip shop, and I think that's where the bastards are coming from. They do really tasty chips though, possibly because they're fried in cockroach fat.
Nessa, cats aren't terrorists, they're freedom fighters. Fighting for the right to sleep, mainly.
Vague, with bugs that big I don't think shaking them will be enough. Why not take a leaf out of the US military's book and play loud music at them? No particular artiste springs to mind, but my guess is they'd really hate a badly-played harmonica.
Oh you say that because you haven't met the local chapter. They sleep with one eye open, diarise my every move, pollute the water supply and sometimes go so far as to leave cat eggs on the carpet. That's terrorism in my book. I'm sure I don't have to go into the implications of a bare foot incursion.
A badly played harmonica or... Mariah Carey's top notes.
Mariah Carey's top notes are the only good thing about her surely? Apropos bugs; cockroaches would be at least recognisable. The multi-legged prehistoric nightmares that have crawled up from my downstairs neighbour beggar belief. Like a kind of streamlined trilobite.
Something like this ? Or more like that ?
Speaking of *that*, where have all the ones that roll up like peas gone ? I spent a good portion of my childhood marvelling at this phenomenon and now all I can find is woodlice wearing frilly skirts who object and kind of go "pop" if you try to roll them up into peas.
Worse still, I once saw a *this* with its head stuck inside an earthworm eating the insides of it out. No amount of tupperware can stem that pain.
Re. Mariah Carey's top notes, the High Yellah Yeller aromatic stratum of desperately aging hamster ? Or like sour vino ? This is good ? Or sqealing like a stuck pig on helium. No... you must be making some coy reference to her fun bags surely.
I think an investigation into the state of the woodlouse population is needed. I too have been poking them in the vain hope that they will curl into balls. To no avail.
And these definitely aren't the friendly woodlice of my youth. No, no, they mulitply like there's no tomorrow, eat my herbs and can be found trying to crawl through the thrid story windows... what happened, what happened?
@jonnyboy: No, I can identify those ones. Seriously, I have never seen anything like these before. I am afraid I have not got a picture, as every time I see one, I bash it with a shoe. I'll trap one for you and send you a photo if you like...
Yes please, mugshots would progress the campaign.
In the meantime, I'm setting up a Woodlice of Our Youth task force to hunt down the wholesome small bean impressionists and reintroduce them to our fair land. I fear this is a red squirrel/grey squirrel situation but with determination and good torches, we may just be able to overcome this Blair-ite invasion.
According to Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, woodlice taste like prawns. Perhaps the cats have discovered this.
If anyone has any pictures of Mariah Carey's funbags, kindly send them over.
Or better still, a picture of Puke Fuckley-Cuntingstall's breasts.
Oh I'm just being bitter because I wish it were me mincing about in the mud selling organic pig flesh and being hugely smug about it.
I'd still like to see his breasts though.
I have a friend who looks like H F-W but with bigger moobs. Any good to you?
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