The first words that came out of Jimmy Fitzpatrick’s mouth this gloomy morning were, “What the ding dong fuck?” His tone was part belligerent; part frustrated and mostly bewildered. Oddly, it was not a direct response to the camel in the bedroom, which it should have been. Instead, he was overreacting to a large beetle crawling luxuriously on the wall.
If he had merely waited, and played his cards right, the camel would have eventually eaten the bug. Not being of logical mind, Jimmy freaked out hard. He went right up to the beetle and got his face all up into it and screamed, “Get the fuck out, now!”
The beetle responded in a thick Brooklyn accent, “Are you talking to me? You better not be talking to me. Not like that.”
This shook Jimmy to the core. It was the last thing he expected. With this, he took a few steps back.
The beetle knew an opening when it saw one and continued, “Chicken? Bawk! Bawk!” To Jimmy’s amazement, that was one hella good chicken impersonation.
Jimmy had one of two choices, fight or flight. He chose fight. After all, he was a human and had at least two hundred pounds on the chiseled beetle. Twenty savage minutes later, Jimmy was bleeding to death, hiding behind a locked bathroom door.