The DU Lounge

When I was a kid, we had clothes lines in the backyard. They were strung between two, six feet tall, hollow, T shaped aluminum poles which were imbedded in cement a few inches under ground.

Every summer, the northern most pole would have a colony of wasps. I did not like the little bastards. So, one day when I was about 14, I decided to deal with them. I taped together four black cat firecrackers, braided their fuses, and lit them. Them I pushed them into one arm of the T.

It was like Luke targeting the thermal exhaust port in the Death Star. Those fire crackers slid down the arm of the T, and then went into the open port. . . er. . . hole leading to the vertical support — and the wasps’ happy home.

KABOOM! The whole support rocked back and forth on its cemented base, And then, a single wasp flew out somewhat drunkenly, and fell to the ground dead. None of his little friends escaped from my bombing.

But I wouldn’t do what these guys did. I’d just nuke them from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.