Roaches come in many sizes, often scaled to disgust. Once they break the span of what a non-clawed palm flattens out to be it's gone from scrubbing yourself with a rock found on the beach to kicking out the residents of the terrarium. Eating them is another thing, and that's why you've been wary about the crab cakes.
For weeks now I've been slowly swapping out the real crab meat for fake crab meat to the roaches that have been lining the cupboards and pantry with their faecal matter. At first it was a shock, to find a whole bag of fake crab meat sitting in the frozen food section. But it wore off, much like the natural harbour of its frost. Keeping level, keeping calm and keeping a sea of artificiality that sounds so good to pronounce.
First they were small and the size of fingernails. Nothing much, so a lot of the meat was still real fake crab. Then when the food starting hanging around a lot more in the kitchen overnight they started drawing in the big biters.
That's at least the one good thing to come from leaving the dishes to soak in their own filth over night. Between three and six days seems to be the key. After that it's getting rank and you're getting headaches. Earlier than that and no, sorry, the duct tape only traps so many. As a heliopause hampers the bleed of the solar winds, so too does the thick fabric tape across the kitchen counters.
Legs make for the extra crunch and you just thought it was those whiskers they have around their beady little eyes. Everything becomes intervisible when the truth splits your vision.
This is your own doing. Your increasing fascination with the Paleo diet means you'll eventually end up eating rocks. Right now it's only gristle and why there are so many prawns in the salad. But I like you enough to help you prepare for the approaching nuclear winter.
You'll thank me later.
Written on Tuesday, 19 March 2013