Yesterday night, a cockroach which I shall name Darcy appeared in my bathroom whilst I was about to take a shower.



Naturally, I screamed for my mom to kill it, but by the time she arrived, Darcy had already scooted to safety. Perturbed and disgusted, I took my shower anyhow, eyes always on the floor just in case Darcy decides that he needs a shower as well. He never showed, thankfully.

Later on, my mom went to use the bathroom, and after that she told me that she had successfully managed to kill Darcy. I was skeptical. I told her, I didn't believe her, she was saying it just to make me feel better. She asked me if I didn't hear the whopping sounds of a roll of newspaper continuously hitting the floor (because cockroaches are so goddamn hard to kill), I said no. She said well she kilt it anyway and flushed it down the toilet. I was still skeptical.

Darcy might still be alive. You know how they never really die. How about Darcy's 289 wives and 5000 children? They're all there, waiting, watching. One of these days, as I sit down on the toilet bowl, they might just jump out and greet me, ultimately causing me to make a mess of myself.

Note: Whilst googling cockroach images, I had to hold back my vomit. NEVER google images of cockroaches. Brrr. You've been warned.