Mary,

I've been stewing about this bug stuff all afternoon, and even though I may
have started it, it's becoming just too distasteful for a family website (or
whatever this agglomeration of Pinheads is).

I was thinking about the likelihood that our Neanderthal ancestors moved out
of caves (and into prehistoric buildings?) to get the hell away from those
fucking bugs all over their ceilings, and how it's probably people like you
and Ken rooting around in caves that makes the goddam bugs live in our
basements and behind our baseboards.  So maybe you and Ken and your
spelunking friends might wanna consider staying the hell out of their caves,
and maybe the chert chickens would stay out of your basement--and the
travertine turkeys, obsidian ostriches, and dolomite dodos would stay the
hell out of my basement.  Just think about it, OK?

And if all of you don't stop all this discussion of insects and buggery, I'm
going to tell you my true-life cockaroach story that'll make you long for the
good old days when you couldn't think of anything more revolting than the
first time your cats puked up cricket parts on your grandmother's paisley
shawl.

Get my drift?

Hugs,

Ralph