Dear Other Residents of my home.When I can't walk into the kitchen without stepping on a. A fly carcass or b. a live squirming maggot?IT IS TIME TO CLEAN THE FUCKING KITCHEN.Since apparently you can't understand the concept of "infestation", I'm going to spend my day sweeping, spraying, mopping and scrubbing. On the hottest fucking day of the year, I'm going to deal with my least favorite thing in the universe: bugs in my goddamn house.I shouldn't be surprised that you seemed more concerned with my using chemicals to kill the flies than the fact that THERE IS A FUCKING BREEDING GROUND IN OUR GODDAMN KITCHEN. You know. WHERE WE KEEP THE FOOD WE EAT? And you're worried about the cats getting sick?! YOU SHOULD BE WORRIED ABOUT GETTING THE FUCKING PLAGUE. Asshole.That said, I'm getting off the computer now and going to clean off the kitchen table, move the dining set out of the kitchen, find the mop, find the Mr. Clean, find the bucket (which I have no doubt are all in different places and covered with a fine layer of cobwebs), sweep the floor, spray FUCKING EVERYTHING WITH THE GODDAMN CHEMICALS YOU HATE SO MUCH, mop the floor, put everything BACK into the kitchen, and clean the table, chairs, cat dishes, counter tops, cabinets, and stove top. I won't be holding my breath for your help.Sincerely,A righteously, RIGHTEOUSLY pissed off and disgusted Anna.
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