Thread by @TheRealHoarse

I have returned.

That was… a bit of a cluster.

If you’re just joining us, maybe start with the prelude.

Everyone else, let’s dive down in, shall we.

1/

https://twitter.com/therealhoarse/status/1409307709179113477

So, I sign off and get ready to enter my garment bag man-hive for a final assault on The Terrible Hornet.

But, I’ve got flashbacks to yesterday’s go-round in my head.

One of those bastards stung me *four* times in about two seconds flat just for walking by. Zap-zap-zap-zap.

2/

I would very much prefer not to repeat that, so I decide to put on my heaviest rain gear as an added layer of protection.

In my pocket: a flashlight, beer and bottle opener. I could be in that vinyl mausoleum for awhile.

3/

So, I get in, make sure all the holes are sealed and zip up.

Now, mind you, the RealFeel in my area is about 296 degrees today. Close to 90 degrees with 300% humidity.

And I’m essentially in a greenhouse wearing a parka.

I’m dropping waterweight like a wrestler on diuretics.

Anyway, I take aim at the hive through the partially unzipped Garment Bag of Troy.

And I let loose…

And, guess what?

The 23 feet of range on the can?

Yeah, that’s a lie. Not even close. The stream limply falls several feet short of the hive.

5/

So, basically, I just buzzed the tower while putting no shots on target.

I imagined this was unlikely to sit well with the hellspawn in the nest, so now what the fuck was I going to do.

So, I drank the beer and sweated. A lot. So much sweating.

6/

And then I unzipped, peered through with one eye waiting to be stung on the eyeball, and seeing no Terrible Hornets, got out and moved The Garment Bag of Troy five feet closer.

7/

Bag in the bag. Zip back up. Look for the hive…

Only, by this time, contrary to the pictures, it was too dark to see the well camouflaged hive.

I think I know where it is but am not sure.

Hey, no guts, no glory, so I let her rip.

And then the can sputters out.

WTF?

8/

I was expecting a high-pressure hose of pesticide jetting 23 feet into the hive’s angry maw.

What I got was an old man at a stadium urinal trying to clear two stadium beers past his benign prostate enlargement.

That was not a strong stream.

9/

Anyway, now I am absolutely drenched with sweat, out of hornet spray and zipped up in a fucking garment bag hot enough to smelt iron.

This plan looked better on paper.

10/

So, I get out of the bag. By now, I’m just ready to force this moment to it’s crisis. Dare I eat a peach? Yes, I do very much dare.

Let’s go, hornets. I don’t know if you’re dead or not but, fuck it, I’m going to just be a jackass and walk straight up and look.

11/

And, again, contrary to the editing magic of those pics, it’s too dark to see even with a flashlight.

I think I got them. I’m not sure.

And now I’ve sweat so much I’m down to my college weight and low on sodium and irritated.

So, I foraging for more spray in the house.

12/

I have none.

So, I go rummaging in the garage.

And that’s when I saw it:

A butane-fueled blowtorch that must have been at least 50 years old. It was the prior owners’.

Fire would end this madness.

13/

So, I give the knobs a turn, here a hiss, turn ‘em back closed and go find a lighter.

And then I pulled out the garden hose and dragged it close in case I set the tree on fire and then I fired up The Flame of Justice…

14/

…and, my friends, it was glorious.

Hornets nests are made of chewed up wood fashioned into a papery husk. Highly flammable.

They just… go… *poof*… and they’re gone.

A brief sizzle, a flame, and then a glorious darkness where the hive had once been.

15/

I am consumed with joy right now.

I have dispatched the bastards who stung me once and for all. I walked away without a sting. And I got to use a blowtorch.

I mean, that’s a pretty good day.

The Garment Bag of Troy probably smells like a YMCA locker room but such is war.
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