We have ants. Not the cute ants from Sesame Street that carry the picnic basket away and everyone laughs, but the kind that get into your pantry and get stuck and die on the outside of the honey jar. Sigh.....it's just gross.
They are vile. Ever since I spotted the first one, I've been constantly itchy. I will find myself in Giant and turn my head to look at something over my shoulder and I'll freak out thinking I see an ant on my shoulder. I'll jump and yell in the middle of the soup isle only to discover that it's the same freckle I've had on my shoulder since I was 12.
I don't know what to do about them. I emptied the pantry and tossed everything that wasn't on lockdown (including a few cans of shit with a 2008 expiration date, WTF???) and sanitized the whole thing. I also did the same to almost every area in the kitchen, but still, those fuckers find their way in. I kill them daily. I take pleasure in it at this point. I find myself in the kitchen yelling at them before sending them to their death. I scream at them like they can hear me "Enjoy my crumbs with one eye, fucker!" or "Here you go asshat, a brain injury. Take that!" before I squash them with my thumb.
Did you know that for every person on the planet, there are at least 1.5 million ants? That kind of shit keeps me up at night in nightmares where those fuckers crawl through my mouth and down my throat. 1.5 million means that I have A LOT of smooshing to do. Ants also have the biggest brains of all insects so that explains the wetness on my finger as their heads explode. Pamela Anderson would be so proud. She'd probably prefer I gave them Hepatitis-C and called it a day. I just don't want these fuckers forming a colony and stealing my shit. I was pissed when I found them in the sugar but if I see those assholes carrying my iPod out of the house, I will be livid!