Last night I eradicated the moth infestation in my cupboard. It turns out they were breeding in an old bag of oolong tea I had stashed away in the back. I opened the cupboard and yanked everything out and a half a dozen little moths went flittering around my kitchen. I tried to suck them up with my vacuum hose, but my cheap plastic vacuum is so weak it did not have the sucking power. The moths just laughed at me.
How come only disgusting creatures become household pests? Why can't I open my cupboard and see a bunch of pretty brightly colored butterflies come flying out like some sort of magical Disney film. Instead of bats why can't I have, say, peacocks running around my yard? Instead of stray cats why can't I have homeless horny runaway teenage girls at my back door? Oh well. You get the idea.
Cooking comment: I have found I have the complete inability to 'brown' stuff. For instance, when a recipe calls for me to 'brown the chopped onions in a frying pan' I cannot do it. Its supposed to turn the onions into crispy little chips, but when I try it I either have them dissolve into soggy brown goo, or I downright burn them. It made my green beans last night a little funky.
Point of fact: I like green beans. Raw or lightly cooked. Fresh stuff, not the sickly mushy stuff you see in a can. However, I hate preparing green beans, as in cutting off the tips of them. It takes way too long, especially when I am preparing my dinner during 'ghost hunters' commercial breaks. I'll usually end up just grabbing a hand full of them, mass cutting off either end, and then I will twist the whole bundle of beans until they snap into two smaller sections and toss them in the pan or pot. I do not have the patience to stand there and garnish every individual bean pod. I need some sort of slave to do hard work like that.
That's right. I'm bitching about beans. I can bitch about anything.
The below article is further proof to me that fraternities are filled with latent homosexuals:
I do not think the time will ever come in my life that I am so desperate to be accepted by a group that I will allow them to dress me up in women's panties and a pink tutu for the amusement of a bunch of closet homosexual frat boys. The scariest line of the article was:
Police said they saw "mangled hot dogs" on the floor,
WTF? 'Mangled' hot dogs? That tells me one thing; these frat boys were taking hot dogs and shoving it up pledges asses. If you consider yourself a mature independent heterosexual male, and you find yourself not only in a pink tutu with hot dogs hanging out of your ass but you are also paying DUES for that privilege, then it's time to sit back and perhaps reassess your life.
It turns out that my Universal employee pass is good for another 6 months. That's pretty cool, I'll have to take one of my vacation days to go play around in the park. I still have to ride 'men in black'
You know who is holding up pretty good? Lita Ford. Yeah, I'd hit that.
2026 Update
I'm dialing back 20 years to watch Ed wage war on moths with a useless vacuum.
Ah, 2006. Your vacuum was so weak it had to negotiate with moths. Now we have robot vacuums that map the kitchen and still surrender to a single moth, while the insects have upgraded to digital subscriptions to your pantry. You pasted that butterfly GIF three times—a crime against bandwidth—and today your bare URL would be swallowed by an algorithm suggesting moth traps and meal kits. You can buy pre-trimmed green beans now, no slave required, just a convenience fee, and Ghost Hunters no longer has commercial breaks because television has dissolved into endless streaming nobody scheduled. Fraternity hazing remains idiotic, but now it arrives in portrait video on a private story, crisper footage, same mangled hot dogs. You still can't brown onions, Ed, but neither can half the world; we've all surrendered to the microwave. The butterflies never came. The peacocks never came. The moths, bless their hearts, are eternal.
“2006 Ed, while you were chasing moths with a vacuum hose, did you honestly believe the universe would ever grace your cupboard with butterflies, and what exactly did you think mass-snapping a bundle of green beans would do to your already questionable knife skills?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2006 Ed: Ahh, Beelzebubba, good question. Honestly? No, I didn't expect butterflies. My cupboard's about as magical as a dead rat under the stove. But a man can dream, right? Even if it's a stupid dream involving a Disney soundtrack and me not having to kill anything with a weak vacuum. As for the beans — well, I figured mass-snapping was a time-saver, not a knife-skill improvement. My knife skills were already questionable; I'm pretty sure the beans were safer with my bare hands. I've got a cutting board that's seen more drama than a soap opera. So no, I didn't think it would help. I just wanted dinner before Ghost Hunters came back on. And if that means mangled beans, so be it. Take that, foul legumes.
