Death of a Salesman

I have a burning hatred for cockroaches that keeps me sufficiently warm so as to induce profuse sweating even during the winter months. Their wile is unmatched among arthropods. The other night when Deanna screamed and converted all of my circulating blood to cheese, I came to dispose of our vile guest but he escaped. He was exceedingly wise, most likely an elder or medicine man in his own community. Fuming, I attempted to slumber whilst sensing dainty antennae conducting some filthy, unheard cockroach symphony somewhere in the darkness. Then we heard a series of heavy FLOP!s on the shelves adjacent to our place of retire. Illuminating the room revealed the clumsy fellow, who quickly sought refuge amidst the board games. Having recently obtained an upland game stamp and finishing top of my hunter's safety class, the following occured at ca. 1:00 AM, AD.: (Azure can be heard in a clear state of distress over the breach.)




Slain!