So Jordan and I trek through dirt, grass, and broken glass to our loverly new home. Truly charming, and again, one bed. Now that's more like it. But then I get a look at the bathroom. Firstly, the shower just drains in a big hole in the floor that leads outside, which by the way is a jungle. And the toilet doesn't flush. I don't mean there's a failure in the flushing mechanism- it literally has no flushing option. But all that seems like luxury when my eyes are able to discern that the walls in this place are not naturally black, that they're covered in something. Something moving. A fucking Ant Army.
I don't call them an ant army just because of their numbers either, although I can promise you the absolutely preposterous number of these little pricks probably doubled the entire world population, and maybe can't even be quantified at all by our numeral system (which goes to infinity). No, I call them an ant army because they were fucking militant. Honestly, I have to have respect for them on some level. We could learn something from their hive-like dedication to stick together and fight to the death. It's been a while since we humans believed in something so strongly. The only problem is that what the ants believed in so strongly, was burying me in their misery. I knew I'd need some serious reinforcements and at the very least a battle plan before I could leap into war against such a powerful, dedicated force, so I darted back into my room and slammed the door behind me, hearing the repeated thuds of what I believe was the ants forming a battering ram and trying to break through the door (thing must of been reinforced with steel to hold them off). Overwhelmed and underprepared, I ran outside gasping for air, trying to regain my wits and think of where the nearest flamethrower store was so I could do battle properly. Then, I saw it.
In Revelations, Chapter 12, Verse 3, a monster is described. It is a creature so vile, horrific, and powerful that its very arrival signifies the end of the world. Dear Old Apostle John describes this bad boy: 'Then another sign appeared in the sky; it was a huge red dragon, 4 with seven heads and ten horns, and on its heads were seven diadems.'
Sounds like a little bitch compared to what was outside my bungalow.
First I saw the web. 'Oh no,' I thought, 'there must be a spider.' But then I realized the web extended through what I'm pretty sure was the whole goddamned island. And there was a spider. Not just a spider. The spider. The Discovery Channel sometimes shows these things deep in the Amazon jungle. First they interview local tribesmen who speak in some crazy click language and describe how they wrestle dinosaurs and eat poisonous frogs for fun, but still are scared shitless of these spiders. Then they show these massive venomous fuckers and a few of the cameramen die bloody horrific deaths and some lucky bastard makes it out of there with just an arm missing and some footage to show. I never thought I'd encounter one. But here it was right before me: Eight legs spread out endlessly in diameter, attached to a body that easily weighed more than I did. A color scheme of yellow and orange screamed 'Don't fuck with me.' Suddenly I realized we were unwanted guests in the home of a much more powerful being. "Uh... Jordan?" He turned, saw the... ahem... gentlemen, and we both realized what we must do.
"Dear Lord Spider, King of All Things, forgive us our transgressions! We are your humble servants, refugees in your glorious home!" We fell to our knees and began begging for mercy, but it was easy to see it'd take more than that. We knew we'd need to make some sort of offering, so the next move was obvious: "Vicky!! Come here!" Unfortunately, she saw the Mighty Arachnid God before we could properly sacrifice her, so we needed to think of a new way to satiate the Beast Emperor and earn our lives residing in his abode. Slowly and solemnly, like a prisoner accepting death, we realized what we had to do. It was time to face the Ant Army.
Einstein once said of war, "I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones." Well I can't answer for WWIV, but I can tell you from a factual, historical perspective that World War III was fought four days ago with bug spray and a shower head. Sometimes the horrors of war are so great that they should not be described, lest we all lose hope in humanity. So let me just say in brief that thousands of ants fell in fist sized clumps to the floor, that blood was shed, incredible offenses were made, great generals were lost, wives were made widows, children were made orphans, Jordan and I watched each other cry, and the "complimentary" bungalow soap was actually kind of gross.
But eventually, the Battle of Shower was won. Whether it was worth the terrible cost is for history to decide. But as a scarred veteran, I can only say that I did my part the best I could, that I fought hard with my fellow soldiers (re: Jordan), and that I paid the price of war with a fragment of my soul. But in the end, the winner was clear. As millions of my respected enemies lay dead or wounded around me, I crawled back with my last scrap of energy, and caught a glimpse of the Master of the House. Lord Carlos (I decided his name was Carlos) was content. I knew then I'd be safe in his house. That he respected me as a servant, and that I had earned safe passage on his island. Now, a sweet reward lied ahead of me: a reward that the Ancient Phoenicians referred to as "lemon shakes."
Part III: Redemption to follow.