I have heard a theory on the ant in my coffee thing.

Before you say it, I don't have anything more interesting going on in my life than ants.

So I will have to write about ants until something more interesting happens. There is no need for you to tell me to get a life. It is too late for me - save yourself.

As for the new theory, I was told that perhaps the ant was already in the cup when I poured the coffee.

Since I have heard that, I now carefully inspect everything before using it. I have also put all my cups upside down in the cabinet. However, in hindsight, I have rethought the problem: since ants can walk on walls, they shouldn't have any trouble crawling up inside a cup right? Adding to my vexation, someone later told me that putting your cups upside down while they are still wet can lead to the production of certain dangerous microbes that can then lead to other problems all together. I think I would prefer the ants I can see to the microbes I cannot.

So, in order to eliminate the problem, the best solution is to eliminate the ants, right? So I declared war. The ants will succumb to my superior military might. They have the numbers and they know the terrain, but I have lots of weapons of mass destruction that they can't even fathom.

I have put out two kinds of poison bait stations and sprayed my entire home with Bug Death, nearly killing myself with friendly fire. I also plan to go out for a couple tons of Diazanon crystals and just sprinkle a few hundred acres around where I am living. If my deadly poisons don't get them, they still have to face the impending Russian winter.

I have heard that all you need to do is find their nest and then you can kill all the ants - get 'em where they live. Sadly, the terrain is a bit rough around my humble abode and I might have to resort to some sort of Agent Orange-style defoliant to get rid of their cover. Since that could also kill me, my water supply and my cover, I have opted against it. I have tried to track them, but their indigenous jungle warfare techniques have bested me time and time again. I can't find a trail of ants like the poison tells me to, because, frankly, every rock seems to hide millions of evil ants. I don't have the bullets or the time.

At any rate, I don't really think all of them could be coming from the property I am living on. I think they are taking another route through a neighboring piece of land for their assaults using the Ant Chi Minh Trail. I have found one spot where they were coming in and laid down suppressive toxin fire, but that was just one small battle in an endless war.

There could be other options, but I don't think they want peace, no matter how many chemicals I use. For a matter of fact, I think they are rather enjoying the poison bait, like some sort of ant hallucinogen. I saw one the other day with a tie-dyed thorax emblazoned with a peace sign. It was marching out of the bait station singing "We shall overcome."

Perhaps I really just need some tear gas and a few riot police to bring down the whole thing. Or the whole ant counterculture movement could swing the war in my favor through manipulation of ant colony media sources. It is all still up in the air right now. The language barrier is stalling my propaganda. Do any of you out there speak Antonese?

My Own Little World

I have been told that I live in "my own little world." I don't suppose that it is such a bad place to be. It just goes to show that perhaps it is a small world after all.

But I am not the only one who gets caught up in the little things. For instance, I read an article in a daily paper recently about Joe Montana, who happens to be one of my favorite players, even if he was a 49er. At any rate, the story noted how Montana was preparing to make what is known to sports buffs as "The Drive" when he looks at one of his linemen during a television commercial break and says, "Hey, isn't that John Candy over there?" Montana, in the most important game of his life, was blowing time scanning the crowd.

Granted, at John Candy's size, he was easier to spot than, say, Twiggy. But since they are now deceased, if you see them at a football game you should take a photo for the National Enquirer and then check yourself in for rehabilitative mental care. Unless, of course, they happen to be sharing a box of popcorn with Elvis and a space alien, at which point I wouldn't worry about it.

Everyone has seen Elvis and men from space at some point. Just ask that ant over by the bait station.

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