Hunting Murder Hornets

While watering my landscape this morning, I hear a loud buzzing sound radiating from a Salvia bush. I part the leaves searching for this demonic buzzing source.

Bingo, attached to a branch, is a Murder Hornet. I have a picture of the little beast on my refrigerator for identification, since I knew they were heading my way. The Farmers Almanac said they would make Texas by late July, so the magazine was correct for once.

Why is it all pandemics and end-times monsters originate from the Asian continent?

It’s a laundry list of evil mutants starting with Godzilla, Mothra, Son of Godzilla, King Kong fighting Godzilla, Giant Transformers, The Corona Virus, The Asian Flu, The Bat Flu, the Pig Flu, the Bird Flu, and now hornets with the face and murderous attitude of Charles Manson.

Fearing for the lives of my Bumble Bee’s, I spray the Murder Hornet with a substantial dose of Raid. It flaps it’s wings a few times and buzzes at me. No effect whatsoever. Okay, so this mutant is chemical resistant and now knows what I look like and where I live.

I retrieve my 1966 era Daisy BB Pistol from my work shed; old school tactics are now on the table.

I sneak up to the Salvia bush and spread the branches enough for a clean shot. There it sits with a Bumble Bee in its grasp, stinging the life out of the poor pollinator. I see a dozen more casualties on the ground below the plant—Satan with wings and a stinger. This monster has to go to La La Land now.

The first BB bounces off the buggers’ armor plating, putting a hole in my den window. There go $300 bucks. Now it’s personal. The second and third shots wing the critter, and now it is insanely mad and buzzing like a New York apartment door buzzer.

With only two BB’s left in my pistol, I go for the kill shot to the head. I take my aim and begin to squeeze the trigger. The murderous thug-bug looks up at me with its Charles Manson eyes, and a shiver runs up my spine.
” Go ahead, kill me if you must, but I have friends that will track you down.” It’s look says it all.

I take the shot, and the invader falls to the ground, headless. The Bumble Bees sensing victory swoop in and finish the killer off. Payback for their fallen brethren.

I retrieve the dead hornet from the bush with a pair of Martha Stewert grilling tongs and place it on my backyard retaining wall. A few squirts of charcoal lighter fluid and a wooden match complete the deed, and the bad-ass bug is on its way to hornet Valhalla.

My wife walks up and says, ” so, you got him, good job. Look at these cute little packs of Chinese seeds that came in the mail just now.”