Last year brought us an alarming study. Populations of bugs we like and need — such as ladybugs, fireflies, butterflies and bees — are in a rapid decline. Meanwhile, bugs we hate — such as cockroaches and mosquitoes (aka “skeeters” for us native Southerners) — are doing just fine.
The collective reaction from most Earthlings was about the same as their reaction to soaring temperatures, rising seas and the impending extinction of humankind:
I understand. I mean, these “studies” are brought to us by the same “scientists” who went from sending rockets into space and discovering vaccines to inventing hoaxes like climate change just for fun. They can’t be trusted.
At least, I certainly hope they can’t be trusted because they’re talking about bugs again. Now, they’re claiming that cockroaches are becoming immune to pesticides. Their resistance to man’s pesticides can increase six-fold during a single generation. It’s even worse if a lady cockroach develops that resistance because in her brief life she can produce 200 to 300 offspring, the last 50 or so she doesn’t even bother to name or give birthday parties.
Folks, this ain’t good. I can deal with rising seas. I’ve already purchased some land in Dothan, Alabama, for a beach resort — Dunes of Dothan. It’s just a couple of lounge chairs right now where you can relax in today’s 115-degree heat index, but soon it’ll have gulf-front luxury singlewide trailers, er, I mean cabanas. But we don’t need bigger, badder, stronger cockroaches.
In my younger days, I crawled under old houses doing plumbing work and putting in insulation, and that brings you face-to-face with an awful lot of those nasty creatures. I’ve tromped through the woods and found plenty of them under logs and brush. I even found one in an order of fries at a fast-food restaurant. I hear roaches can survive a nuclear disaster, but I can tell you they don’t fare as well in a deep fryer.
If you live down South, you’ve seen plenty of roaches. But you never get used to them. They’ll always be disgusting.
My most disgusting experiences with roaches came not under an old house or in the woods but when I got my first full-time job down in Valdosta, Georgia. I wasn’t making minimum wage, but I dang sure wasn’t making maximum wage, either. I made just enough to afford a one-bedroom apartment that was held together with Elmer’s glue.
I don’t recall exactly what the pest-control approach was at those apartments, but I’m pretty sure exterminators brought resistant roaches from other places and relocated them to that apartment complex. The only thing more aggravating than the roaches was the idiot above me who practiced line dancing to “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” at 120 decibels. To this day, I cannot listen to Brooks and Dunn without getting violent.
I would try my hand at exterminating them (the line dancer and the roaches) myself, but the bugs never left. In fact, I’d spray Raid on them and they’d wave one of their six legs at me and say, “a little to the left, ahh, yeah, that’s it. Thanks.”
I wouldn’t be surprised if that apartment complex was ground zero for the world’s resistant roach invasion. Heck, the whole problem may have started right there in apartment A-2. Scientists should look into that when they’re not inventing more climate change.
If today’s cockroaches show not only a resistance to pesticides but also a propensity to line dance (albeit awkwardly with six three-jointed legs — yes, 18 knees — they could very well be descendants of my old cockroach neighbors. If that’s the case, I’m very sorry. But at least you only have to deal with resistant roaches and not that boot-scootin’ idiot from apartment A-6.
Get more from Chris Johnson at KudzuKid.com.