An Open Letter to the Caterpillars in my backyard:
If you had asked me a couple of weeks ago to make an ordered list of bugs, sorted from my favorite to my most hated, it would have probably gone something like this:
1) Lady bugs
2) Pill bugs
Obviously that's not a complete list, but you get the idea. Pretty and charming bugs at the top, with stinging and nauseating bugs at the bottom. You, dear caterpillars, were in the upper part of that list, due to your picture-book charm and borderline magical ability to transform into butterflies.
Do you know where you are on my list this week? RIGHT AT THE FREAKING BOTTOM! I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
Two weeks ago I had a lovely vegetable garden. I had bowls of sweet sugar snap peas, ripening chard, bountiful lettuce, and more horrid little zucchinis that I knew what to do with.
Today I have a planter box full of you. Hundreds of you. You've voraciously chewed your way through all of my tasty vittles leaving behind piles of poo as your calling card. Oh, and don't think I haven't noticed that you've left only the zucchini untouched. Nice touch, assholes.
This turn of events bodes poorly for both of us.
It bodes poorly for me because much of my hard work has gone to waste. It bodes poorly for you because now the killing begins.
I tried doing the eco-wacko-hippie thing, spraying each of the plants with a garlic solution, which was supposed to deter you from eating them. As it turns out, you LOVE garlic. I got tricked into seasoning the vegetables for you and you rewarded me by eating more of my plants.
Now I'm going to try something a little different. I'm going to rupture your gut cells! Hooray!
So, game on, bastards.
Your merchant of death,