So there I am in the kitchen, chopping up chives for my late night scrambled eggs and well done toast and it's late so the cockers are scuttlin about, I can hear the dirty c*nts rustlin the bin liner, and there's a mozzie and I swat it and I get it first time which isn't bad - I normally have to have my hand wet and full of soap suds to do that, but I get him and I'm about to scrape the chopped chives into the pan and I can feel this acidic pain on my foot between my toes and I look down and there's this tiny orange ant, and the bastard has his tiny front jaws in me and is really going for it like I am on his territory or something.
'Why you cheeky little fuck' I think to myself, and I pick him up between finger and thumb and put him on the work surface and he's a bit crumpled and can't walk in a straight line but the hard little bastard is ok.
Between my toes is not ok, it is burning and blossoming like a sulphuric mozzie bite, only worse, and I'm thinking, 'Why you little orange shitbag, that's not on' and so I go to the bathroom and I get the bleach and put a drop of it on him and say 'How do you like that eh, that feel good?' and he doesn't seem to like it but it is still ok, so I crush him under the back of a tablespoon.
By this time the other ant I hadn't noticed has got as far as my right elbow and it's time to get in the shower and fuck off upstairs with the supper.
Fucking ants, who's ave em.