A Bit Of A Philosophical Question...

Is it better to step on a slug on your doorstep in shoes and track dead slug goo all over your house...

OR...

to step on said slug with your left bare foot and be aware instantly of said slug goo and avoid trailing it all about?

Reluctantly, I say the second. Not that I had a choice in the matter.

One would think by now I'd look down while stepping outside. What's that definition of insanity again?

Yeah, That WOULD Be Overkill....

So I'm talking to a friend this morning about wanting a shotgun.

"What do you need one for?"

"Well in case I need to shoot someone." (My standard answer nowadays.)

"You can use your handgun."

"Well what if I'm dead tired and only half awake? It's easier to hit your target with a shotgun. Plus, I can use it for hunting. With either shot or as a slug gun."

"A slug gun? You use a shotgun for that?"

"Sure."

"Really?"

"Yeeeeaaaahhh... what's the big deal? You use a slug instead of shot."

"Oh... I thought you meant shooting slugs in your garden."


More slug-gy goodness HERE and HERE.

More slugs!

I forgot to write this last night. I stepped on another damn slug! What's with these things? Why must they torture me? I need to open another beer and refills my traps. Or maybe I can get some better stuff at Lowes tomorrow.

Maybe I should convert to Christianity and beg God to keep the slugs away from my house so I won't get mad and kill them.

EDIT: I forgot to write that this was in BARE FEET! That slug goo was just as hard to get off the bottom of my foot as it was my hand in the first post below. But this time I went straight for the Kleenex. It sure does seem as though I'm always using Kleenex to get goo off of my body...

Those slug bastards!

Soooooo... I'm winding down from a nice busy day of doing nothing much and want a nice little Mint Julip. The idea sticks in my head even though I'm low on Bourbon. So I say "Fuck It!" and go outside to grab some fresh mint out of my garden.

And LO and behold! There's a stinking slug on my pot holding said peppermint! I grab his slimy ass and slam it down onto the rocks in my gravel driveway. I decide (rather smartly, I must say) to wash my hands before picking my mint.

Good call on my part. I go to the bathroom and start washing my hands. There's a viscous goo that's not coming off with soap clinging to my fingers. I scrub like a motherfucker but nothing doing. It holds fast. Let me take a moment to describe this stuff:

It's crystal clear. About an eighth of an inch thick and there are these little bits of something in the goo. I can't pull it off, I can't rub it off, I can't scrub it off. It's clinging with the vengeance of a slug demon.

I get out the FAST ORANGE and it still doesn't come off! Now if you don't know what Fast Orange is, I bought it back when I used to change my own motor oil on my car. It's gritty and cuts through 10w30 like it's hardly there. But there's still this shit sticking to me.

Now I start freaking out a little bit. I don't know why, I just did. I was wondering if there was some exotic foreign slug that exudes flesh-eating bacteria or something. You know, like something some damn illegal Mexican would bring over.

But I grabbed some dry Kleenex and used that to wipe it off. Then I used the Fast Orange again and then lots of hot water and soap.

Then I ran outside with the flashlight, found the bastard's slimy corpse and found an empty planter plastic thing. Then I put it on top of the slug and stomped it until my foot hurt. Then I took THIS PICTURE!












Then I took these little plastic cups and put them into my garden. Then I filled them with beer to lure and drown these slimy shits before they can munch on my garden anymore. Good fucking riddance.

Acutally, I still feel queasy describing it. And I actually started this blog JUST to write about this disgusting episode. So there you have it.