Yes, you read correctly. I had the surprise of my life last night... okay, maybe not my life; I exaggerate. So, I was about to take a shower. As I pulled back the curtain and stepped inside, I saw it. IT was a cucharacha. And it was huge. Practically the size of my hand. I realize I have small hands--but STILL. Resisting the urge to scream and run from the bathroom without clothing, I grabbed the nearest weapon, which happened to be a squeegee. Not exactly sure how to proceed, the cockroach and I did a little dance around the bathroom, feinting and sparring. I finally cornered the bugger by the sink. However, I realized that I had nothing with which to smush it, nor did I have the nerve to try. While it cowered it the dark, glowering at me, I reassessed my options. I quickly dressed and began a search throughout the house for some sort of poison, incendiary or atomic bomb. I located a bottle of Raid-like substance with a picture of a dying cucharacha on the label. Perfect. The insect of darkness was still cowering in his little corner. I approached, guns drawn, and fired at his colossal head. Forty-five seconds of a constant spray of bug killer and another mad chase around the bathroom, I finally had a cockroach carcass. I ended up flushing it; however, in retrospect, I should have saved it and taken it to a taxidermist, as Brice suggested. It would have been a Boone and Crockett sized treasure.
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