So much has transpired these many nights since we danced the Macarena on Saturday Night Live...Where to start? Let's talk about me.
After being rebuffed by the Patent Office regarding my invention of the "Surgical Nose Hair Shotgun" (they argued that aside from being an obvious extension of prior inventions, it may not pass ATF muster), I have successfully settled into a groove as a cricket confuser.
When a home full of family-loving Americans is troubled by the pesky chirping of these vermicious knids, I simply stalk up Hutu style amongst them and shout Hutu warrior chants. While they didn't work as well against the Tutsis, it befuddles crickets like a Hamburglar in a Central Indiana nunnery. It requires a different sleep pattern than I am used to, but the crickets just aren't as precocious in the morning.
From what I can tell, you have been up to similar endeavors with your environmental mish-mosh and whatnot. I hear that's going well. Actually, a 2.7 degree increase in sub-tropical temperatures will wipe out the cricket population, and POOF! there goes my empire. So, keep it up, smelly.
Love and smooches to The Tipmeister.