A storm rolls in about one in the morning.  There are so many lightning strikes that it’s light in the house much more than it’s dark.  I’m not asleep because of a lone cricket doing his best Charlie Daniels impression.  This cricket must be hard up for some loving.  I’ve heard a cricket’s chirp before, but this was ridiculous.  I swear he was playing “the devil went down to Georgia.”  At first I thought it was cool.  I got to whispering to him “go Charlie go.”  I was sure some female cricket would be impressed and soon the song would change to ” let’s get it on.”  Unfortunately female crickets are not impressed by Charlie Daniels songs.  They like smooth chirping like  Kenny G. or something.  The frantic sawing of my cricket was getting no action.  Finally I could take it no more.  I decided that this particular variation in cricket evolution wasn’t going to catch on.  The Charlie Daniels cricket was destined for a life of loneliness and heartache.  I can see well enough from the lightening strikes to find him.  I arm myself with a shoe and a spray bottle with some form of cleaner in it.  It’s either going to be chemical warfare or hand to hand combat.  I’m prepared for both.  Little Charlie quit sawing while I was looking for my weapons. I quickly got down on all fours and waited for him to rosin up his wings.  A few minutes pass and I hear the familiar tune…”chicken in the bread pan pickin’ out dough, granny does your dog bite?  No child no.”  I creep closer to the sound.  He’s launching into the fiddle solo.  I creep closer as the lightening strikes illuminate the room.  The sound is very loud now.  I feel like a Navy Seal.  I have a grim icy stare.  My body is poised to administer whatever force is needed.  I have my head over the epicenter of the sound.  No cricket.  How can there be this much sound and no cricket?  I decide that a new strategy is in order.  I’m going to use “shock and awe.”  I count down silently “three, two ,one and then I commence to spraying and wooping all around the area.  After an extended show of force I am spent.  I lay back down in bed with adrenaline pumping and the smell of bleach filling the air.  The house is quiet except for the storm noises.

The excitement of my conquest had me fully awake.  My mind turned to something that’s been bothering me.  I write this blog.  I like to write this blog.  It’s enjoyable for me to do.  I have no  idea if anyone else gets any enjoyment out of it.  When I first started doing it I would get so excited when there would be a comment waiting for my approval.  That excitement has now waned.  I get all kinds of comments about my blog now.  They’re not comments though.  They’re spam.  I get comments like… “the information in your article is very informative, good job.”  First, there is no “information” in my blog posts.  Secondly, they are not informative.  I don’t know what they are and I wrote the damn things.  I’ve learned to spot spam a mile away.  The corresponding email address to the comment always has something to do about making my penis bigger or getting more traffic to my site.  I’m thinking about commenting on other peoples blogs with the name “large/spam/penis/traffic/oscilator.com.”  I’m starting to get sleepy at this point.  The storm is diminishing.  My rant about spam is losing steam.  I feel a deep sleep washing over me.  As I loosen my grip on consciousness  I hear…”Purple haze all in my brain.”  The cleaner has my cricket tripping.