Die, You Little B@stards!

This evening, my porch (as much as the entrance to my apartmented abode can be considered one) became The Killing Fields. I came home today and I kid you not, the outside wall and door was practically covered with these millipede things. Everywhere. I don't know if it was some mass hatching or an evacuation from recent rains. All I know was that I went Hudson: "There's movement all over the place!" You don't understand. These things had gotten inside once before and I'd spent the better part of a winter either killing the little suns-a-beaches or finding their dried husks in various nooks and crannies and I was damned if they'd breach my sanctus sanctorum again! This time, I was taking the fight to them!

So I did what any macho-macho-man would do. I entered my abode, threw everything on the floor, grabbed the can of Raid from my closet and turned my porch into a hazmat zone. I pretty much emptied the heretofore full can of insectide as I soaked the wall, the window, the door, everywhere I could find one of these little things. As liquid death oozed down, it carried the invaders with it. They struggled in vain to remain aloft before plopping on the concrete, where they thrashed, writhed and wiggled in agony before falling silent. And it felt good. I embraced the toxic moment, knowing I was committing "insecticide", that my quasi-porch was a mass bug-grave. I even took a picture of their little corpses as a warning to those who would think to follow their lead.

Behold! The Carnage!

Update: I just found one in my tub. Snap, it's on.