Talkin' Shit About A Pretty Sunset

The smell of smoke from a burning insect is indistinguishable from burning hair --- a stench that lingers in the living room for a solid five minutes.

The mosquito problem had gotten out of control in my apartment and nothing deterred them. We tried everything from mosquito coils, spray, moth balls to slapping them mid-flight which proved ineffective and frustrating. My slap skills got pretty good, but not good enough to rid my living space of the stinging menaces.

The most annoying thing is the whine of one of those god damn malaria-harborers flying over my up-turned ear at night. It would wake me up!

Then we purchased a beautiful invention: an electircfied tennis racket which proudly sports the symbol of worldwide anarchy. That circled A gave me the extra strength and hunger for revenge that I needed to get the job done, lawlessly.

Powered by two AA batteries which send a jolt of insect-terminating electricity to any bug crossing its path, my racket is the only effective control device for my apartment's mosquito problem.

It's much funner than tennis too. When one of the buggers flies by I hit the button, give it a smooth swipe, and watch him fry. The metal screen is dense enough to trap the bug and soon the smoke starts rising from his tiny culicidian body. If I'm lucky, a satisfying spark flashes as he meets his maker.