Dedicated to all my Hawaii peeps and our PTRD (Post Traumatic Roach Disorder) stories.
If you have a good story, comment!
I hate it when you wake up in the middle of the night to pee, and after sitting, you hear a roach scuffling along the inside of the toilet bowl.
I hate it when you can’t pee in the middle of the night for the rest of your life.
I hate it when you pour a glass of orange juice in the morning and take a sip, only to notice the floating roach exoskeleton one sip to late.
I hate that.
I hate it when you come home from work and a flying roach dives down your bra for no obvious reason while you are trying to take off your shoes.
I hate it when you are trying to shake said roach out of your shirt, but instead you accidentally squash it against your chest.
Shit. That’s the worst.
I hate it when you are trying to put on your shoes and you feel a roach crawl between your toes and you throw off your shoe and scream like a little castrated man named Earl.
I hate it when there are roaches on the front seat of your car. They can’t even drive.
I hate it when people say, “They’re more scared of you than you are of them,” because that’s bullshit.
I hate it when there are little dead baby cockroach carcasses in your toothbrush.
I hate it when they are alive.
I hate that my whole life I thought cockroaches was spelled cockaroaches.
I hate it when you open up your medicine cabinet to take your Prozac and there’s a roach sitting on it and it says, BOO!
I hate it when you spray a phatty momma roach with Raid, and suddenly she lays a gooey roach egg on your kitchen counter on her frantic crawl towards the light.
I hate it when you go to the kitchen in the middle of the night to get some guacamole and there’s three huge roaches having a pow wow on your floor.
I hate it when roaches have names, like Sanchez and Bob, and wear hats.
I hate it when you’re in bed at night and hear them running along your wall, especially because of that time when you woke up and one was in your hair. How fucked up is that? 100 points.
I hate it when you’re camping at Bellow’s and you can’t sleep because you’re scared of the Blair Roach.
I hate it when roaches exist.
I hate it when you are trying to throw away a dead roach in a paper towel, and suddenly it comes back to life, only long enough to slice your finger with its razor sharp roach leg and quote Dylan Thomas.
I hate it when you find a roach leg floating in your saimin.
I hate it when you eat it, confusing it with a food that resembles roach legs.
I hate it when roaches take the shape of my mother in my nightmares, wearing matching aprons, and all shaking their hairy roach leg/finger, saying I’ll never amount to anything.
I hate it when your baby says, “Hey look mom at my new toy,” but it’s not a toy, it’s a roach.
I hate it when you have to throw away the overflowing roach motel and you look inside and know FOR SURE that there can’t be a god, because why would god make roaches?