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*After my last post I thought it would be nice to lighten up a bit with some warm, happy (well, not so happy for Elmer) pest poetry. Who doesn't love bug humor? This one actually won first place in a Deb Guzzi contest back in the day.

"And so this court finds you, Elmer T. Roach XXIII, guilty of the crime of pushing your fellow bug off the edge of the pan and into the hot oil below, thereby ensuring that he would be fried to a crisp whilst you nibbled, alone, on what was left behind. For said crime you are hereby sentenced to death. You will hang by the neck, er, that is to say, you will hang by the antennae until you are dead, dead, DEAD! Do you have anything to say for yourself, sir?

"Yes, your Honor, if it pleases the court. When in the course of insect affairs, one often finds oneself in a situation where difficult choices must be made. To eat or not to eat. To run and hide in a crack, or to stand one's ground. Indeed, to live or to die. Your Honor, let's forget for a moment that I have two hundred twenty-one mouths to feed, with one on the way. Let us ignore the fact that a father must keep up his strength in order to ably support such ones. Must I remind this court that we all live by the law of the kitchen, that it's each bug for himself.

And so Your Honor, there I was, placed in a most difficult predicament. With only enough droppings to feed one bug and not two I made the decision to push him over the rim. Yes, I freely and of my own volition make confession to this hideous, yet necessary crime. However, let no man, er, bug judge me. Let he who is without malice, she who is without greed, they that are without the constant, ever present pangs of hunger cast the first stone.

I am free. I am freeeee...."

"And so it was that justice was executed in behalf of the state of Bugdom. Elmer T. Roach the XXIII hung by his antennae until he breathed his last. Alas, he professed to be of no particular faith. Nevertheless, a mass of Christian burial, presided over by the Very Reverend Heathcliff J. Bug LVI, was arranged for him by his dear widow, now heavy with nymph. It has been reported that the hymn chosen for the memorial was, Go Rest High Upon That Cupboard. Further announcements to follow.
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