They look like flying lobsters

There's nothing wrong with cockroaches, except their existence. When they first came crawling down our ceilings with their antennae waving like outer-spacemen with laser guns, it seemed that the only feasible way of retaining the physical integrity of our bodies was to simply show them the quickest way to the sugary treasures of our pantry.

They've been around for a few days now, usually demanding access to the booty at about 10 pm. We typically acquiesce.

But just last night I decided to watch "Where Eagles Dare," in which a young and distressingly Keanu Reeves-ish Clint Eastwood single-handedly slays half of the Nazi SS corps with only a jackknife and a portable stereo. So when the roaches came back for another onslaught in the evening, my wife made several diversionary maneuvers involving a Tupperware container and the Saran wrap, and I headed for my Estwing.

Never before in my life had I seen a Saran-wrapped cockroach lying in a Tupperware after being repeatedly assaulted with all 18 ounces of a construction-grade hammer. Take that, weird antenna flailers! Don't make me bring out the portable radio!