Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Vacuum Control

The targets didn’t stand a chance.

I had carefully planned my route, staying stealthy, low down, hidden.  I reconnoitered the target area, dialed in the killing zone, became one with my prey. 

I was stalking.

My mission? To eliminate the hordes of fruit flies that had invaded our kitchen. 

I was heavily armed.  My weapon of choice?  A pistol-gripped, one inch caliber, built-in vacuum cleaner with a three inch barrel and thirty foot hose with decorative, floral cloth covering. 

It is a high-tech, powerful, insect killing machine. 

I am…The Fly Sniper.

On some missions I utilize a silencer – a plastic tube attachment normally used for high-angle work like valences. 

For some, these add-ons help to lessen the mental blow that dealing death brings into a sniper’s psyche. 

Not me.  I don’t need a shrink to help me understand what I’m doing.  No need to ‘get in touch with my feelings’ here.  I admit I’m a killer, and I’m OK with that. 

Today, the enemy seemed to be congregating on the wall above the garbage can – no doubt licking their disgusting little fly lips, moaning and loosening their belts after a satisfying meal of banana peel and discarded bits of salad. 

They erupt into flight at my approach, but my weapon is upon them!  Ha Ha!  Come within an inch of the business end of this Roving Vortex of Destruction and in you go!  No chance of escape!

I narrowly avoided a tragedy as the nozzle came a little close to my wife’s chest area.  By accident. 

Over the fruit bowl I slowly circle my Wand of Death.  In go the juice-sucking vermin as they rise to do battle.  An over-ripe small plum also rises into my weapon with a strangely satisfying “Glurp!” sound.

Fighter Command radar sees flies everywhere as I circle the kitchen.  Big game flies, fruit flies, those little jiggers you can barely see, all hurtle into the Hose of Doom.

Seeing the demonic look in my eyes, the children wisely scurry out of range.  My wife is not so lucky and bears a perfectly round, purple mark on her hip as a result. 

Mission complete, I disassemble my weaponry and return to my observation post in front of the television.

You know, there are some who decry the use of domestic cleaning equipment for killing.  They say vacuums were meant for cleaning and not hunting.  They call me a mass murderer.

To them I say – vacuums don’t kill insects.  All the filth in the canister they bash into at six hundred miles an hour kills insects. 

I realize vacuums can be turned on their owners, and I also know most suction hicky’s are self-inflicted.  Those are risks I’m willing to take in the name of personal protection and dust-free carpets, drapes, and many horizontal surfaces which can be dusted with that brush attachment thing. 

All the talk of vacuum control in this country is a waste of time.  There are too many unregistered built-ins, not to mention portables and Dustbusters, for any kind of control plan to make a difference.  If cleaners want a vacuum, they’ll be able to get one somewhere. 

And if the Government wants to register my vacuum, they’ll have to pry the plastic hand-grip with convenient on/off thumb switch from my cold, dead, purple-spotted hands. 

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Nice story!
My favorite part is the "accidental" hickey.