It's the Wasps, Man

Look, I’m sorry your car got torched. And your house.

I’m not sorry about the garage going up, because at least your mother-in-law can’t squat like a harpy up there anymore, yelling at me every time I got outside. I am sorry she may have gotten doused with my garden hose a few times, I swear I was trying to put out the fire. And missed. Many times.

The fire? An accident, I guess. I wasn’t here when your house tried to to get the lead role in The Phoenix Rises, some new movie in some comic franchise.

Of course it was! Do you honestly think I’d intentionally torch an antique Ferrari, the same make and model that I’ve been looking for, for years, and you just rolled it into your parking spot a month ago like it was nothing to acquire?

No, it wasn’t my fault! It was the wasps!

No, not the other neighbors, they’re fine. I borrow their stuff all the time, they’re cool about it, unlike some neighbors I could mention...

What do you mean, trying to distract you?

Right. The fires.

Well, like I said, it started with the wasps. I had a nest under the porch. Can’t have that when trying to get in and out, right?

Well, I didn’t want to use a spray or anything, you know, chemicals and stuff. And my buddy, Darrell, you know, the guy who comes over sometimes to help me with my car? Okay, so you know who I mean, I’m sure his lack of muffler on his hot rod is not nearly as loud as you’re claiming at three in the morning, he keeps getting them stolen and has to wait till he can afford another-

Right. Fine.

So, anyway, Darrell says that you can get rid of them easier by just dousing the nest in gasoline and lighting it up, problem solved. So I siphoned a cup out of my crappy jalopy-

That’s for yellowjackets? Not wasps? Because the paper nests go up in flames, and cause random fires? Naaah, that can’t be right, Darrell knows what he’s talking about.

Oh, well, I guess that makes sense. You pour it down the hole in the ground? And it smothers them, or you light it up at night to burn off fumes safely? Well, I guess that does sound better than trying to pour it all over a paper nest through the slats in the steps. I shoved a bowl under to catch the drips, I thought that would help -

What? No, that didn’t start the fires.

So, then my buddy Darrell called. Well, I can’t take it inside, with my hands and shoes covered in gas, now can I? So I set the cup of gas on the step, and stepped away to take the call. Well, you know what I’m like when I talk, so my arms are swinging around and stuff – and that’s when my dog knocked over the cup of gas, trying to drink from it.

Of course I screamed and hollered! Dumb dog really thought it was my beer, and it darned well can still sniff! I swear, dratted thing is dumber than the cat cookies he eats, aw don’t make that face at me, you know what I’m talking about. Darned thing hasn’t lost his sense of smell, he just doesn’t have the brain cells God gave to rocks. Did I ever tell you about the time he rolled in-

Fine, fine. But you’re missing a heckuva story.

So I dropped the phone, and ran at the dog. Darned dog lunges for the cup, realizes it’s not beer, yelps, and takes off. Cup goes flying, I go chasing the dog, dog runs for it like I’m a whole pack of demons coming for its stupid soul. High school lets out about then, and you know what they drive like after school, so there we are playing chicken in traffic, and I have to jump to avoid being slammed onto the hood of Jones’ kid’s car, I still got a bruise on my ribs from the bounce, here lemme show you-

Whaddya mean you don’t want to see that? That’s an honorable wound, that is! Suffered in the line of duty! Saving a creature from a horrible death! Well, fine, I did want to strangle him at that point, I may have said something to that effect, and we all know the dog’s stupid but he knows when he’s gone too far, like that time when he-

Fine. Fine.

I’ll put my shirt back on. Don’t want to get sunburned.

So, right. The dog took off.

I hauled my butt home. Now I had gas splattered over the whole stairs, and angry wasps buzzing around, high on gasoline fumes.

I siphoned another cup.

That’s when your mother-in-law put in her oar.

She was howling about the dog chase, so once again she was peeping through the curtains at me. She comes up, waving her cane, shouting bad words that I’m sure you didn’t teach her, and trying to whack me with her purse. Not her cane, which I found weird. Well, I told her she’d better get out of the way, and she whacked at my head, and I ducked, and the cup went flying again, and this time it got on her. She starts screaming, I grabbed her cane as she was flailing around, she jerked it back, and went flying butt-over-teakettle down the hill. Then she went running back to the house, so the tumble didn’t hurt her.

I siphoned a third cup.

By now, I’m feeling as woozy as those wasps. I set down the cup, and went to get a beer.

I decided to call Darrell for advice, and realize my phone’s lying in the dry grass. I picked it up, and it’s cracked. Great. Dumb dog.

But I hear Darrell coming anyway. You can hear that hot rod a long ways off when it’s got no muffler, that’s for sure.

Darrell and I consulted. After I got him a beer. Better thinking that way.

He tells me, we didn’t smoke ‘em out properly first.

What? No, that’s not just for bees! Nah, I believe Darrell more than I believe you. You have that shrew of a mother-in-law living over your garage, what do you know?

That’s when we heard the police siren coming. Your mother-in-law called them. What do they know about wasps?

So now she’s screaming that I should be arrested, I tell them that she was trespassing on my property, and I still have wasps, and Darrell’s laughing and poking the nest like I told him not to, and the wasps are getting angry and the buzzing’s getting louder, and I’m trying not to lose my temper-

And doesn’t that darned dog come flying around the corner, and grab the nest out of Darrell’s hands!

No, I don’t know how he didn’t get stung. I think alcohol provides immunity or something.

So, there goes the dog, right to your mother-in-law. She screams and turns to run, and trips on her cane. Down she does – no, I mean down the hill again, the dog running after. The cops go chasing, and now it’s a game, but the cops are used to this, and one tackles the dog. All of them are flying down the hill, wasps buzzing angrily. And now they’re all hollering and jumping around, including the dog, who won’t drop the nest. Wasps come pouring out.

Darrell and I are laughing, and he lights up a cigarette.

FWOOSH!

Did you know, gasoline’s not that flammable? But gas vapors are, and they trickle downhill. Three big cups’ worth, two cops, a dog, a mother-in-law, and a bunch of angry wasps.

That’s the greasy smudge down there, where they all landed.

I suspect your mother-in-bat had some gas on her, because the garage went up first. I think she went and called the fire company, because Heaven knows I couldn’t call them.

I don’t know about the car and the house, because I was trying to tell the cop to stop putting bullets in the nest, it wasn’t going to help.

No, I don’t know why my house is fine. Fumes are heavy, man, and gasoline is a strange substance. Now you know why I’m blaming the aliens, man, because it was so weird, how the flames shot up.

No, I don’t know where Darrell went, because he hopped in his hot rod and took off. Probably long down the highway by now.

Dog? In the pound. The other cop took him there. Eh, he’ll be out soon on good behavior, and be back. He gets out all the time.

I got out the hose and tried my best before the firetruck got here, but your mother-in-bat kept getting in the way, something about making it worse. I don’t know why she’s so ticked, it’s a hot day, and I soaked her good with the hose. So she couldn’t get scorched, you know. Right. Sure.

Don’t you even think about blaming me for this mess! It’s the wasps’ fault, they should know better than to make a nest under someone’s porch. Or your mother-in-law, for interfering. I think she’s down at the station? I don’t know if she got arrested, or is trying to give evidence, I was talking to the firemen. Nice guys, they really like my beer.

Or blame the aliens, man. Not me.

And you owe me a new phone.