No one likes getting the jibblies.

Just a little taste of what I have to go through at work.

There's the occasional house that has grass tall enough to hold deer ticks the size of small watermelons. That's always fun to trek through, hoping I have all my shots up to date. Whilst spraying pesticide on a tree stump, I kicked it. There's few words to describe the disgust at the amount of carpenter ants spewing forth from the dead tree. Or the averaqe tool shed that holds enough roaches to carry away someone as large as me, or say Jeremy even, back to their nest to feed on. But the Coup de Grace is the house that's in my hall's territory.

I walk in the house and it's pitch black. There's junk every where. Clothes, school supplies, books, magazines. I walk into the kitchen and there's a tray of lasagna that has formed some thick viscous substance on top that can not can be from this planet. The house is just a mess, which is probably why they don't have many...any lights on. The native american man that is showing me through the disaster area...I mean house...takes me to a room at least twice the size of an average back room in a kingdom hall. It is filled over six feet into the air, and over every inch of ground, with objects that people have donated to "charity".

He proceeds to take me into his daughters room, she can't be more than eight years old. He complains that they've found brown recluse spiders in there. Let me take you through the process of a brown recluse bite. First off, there's the immeasurable pain. You'll see a brown line going through your veins in the effected region. After a bit, you develop necrotising fascitis. That essentially means your flesh dies in the spot of the bite. Decays as if you were dead. Did I mention the immense pain? Yeah, that returns.

So, I obviously treat that room for spiders. He next takes me to some other room that has a bowl of spaghetti that has had only a bite taken from it and hardened. Ontop of the bowl, another bowl. Full and with a spoon in it. Who eats spaghettie with a spoon? By this time the miasma that is wafting through the house is really getting to me. So he takes me to the last room.

I pass a wall that had some hurricane damage. I spray it. I walk into the next room. There's a lady sitting on a mattress. I can only assume it's called sitting. She is morbidly obeise. She is wearing a night gown that is large enough to hold a circus side show. The smell is the most pungent, nostril-stinging, putrid odor that has ever cursed my nasal passages with its pressence. To top it all off, she had a web cam pointed right at her bed. She runs an obeise-porn website. I couldn't even see her legs. I hate to be so calloused and this big of a jerk, but the name Jaba crossed my mind.

If you ever go out in service with me, and we go to ardillita court, feel free to stay in the car.