Slugs, Beer, and a Post that makes no sense
Every year when the weather turns warm, and the flowers start to bloom, and the birds start doing it in the back yard, we get slugs. Lots and lots of slugs. And they stay pretty much through Thanksgiving. I counted 60 of them on my driveway one night last October. Our slugs are traditionally ruled by King Slug, who lives in the crack between our house and the porch. The thing is the size of my forearm and I swear it comes in my house at night and breathes on me while I sleep. Then it gets drunk off my best gin and rallies the others to go eat my plants as if they were Cheetos at a dorm party. A couple of years ago I told a friend of mine about the situation and she told me to put egg shells all around my plants. And I was all, “Great idea! You’re a frickin’ genius. I’m so glad to confided in you.” –pause– “Wait, I don’t get it.” And then she explained how the slugs would crawl across the egg shells on the way to my flowers and cut themselves to shreds and die so I didn’t do that because then I’d have slug guts all over the place and with my luck when I die it will be King Slug guarding the pearly gates instead of St. Peter, to whom I’ve never done wrong, and King Slug will be all, “To hell with ye!” And that’s also why I can’t put salt on them. Because of the circle of hell reserved for slug killers. What I am okay with, though, is death via libation. As it turns out, slugs love beer. And it just so happens that slugs and I like the same kind of crappy beer. So what I do is I pour a little beer in the bottom of a steep container, put it out on the steps, and announce loudly that I’m buying a round for the next fifty creatures to slime my way. Now if the cat or Steve doesn’t get to it first, the slugs smell the brewer’s yeast in the beer and all of the sudden it’s happy hour and I’m the hero. The slugs are toasting me left and right and then all of the sudden they’re like, “Oh, shit, I’m floating in beer at the bottom of a container with steep sides! But at least the beer was free and no one poured salt on me. Yippie!” And then they drown in their own gluttony, which seems like a pretty sweet way to go to me. Except if it was me someone was trying to off, they’d put a ginormous jelly doughnut on the front steps and then I’d smell it and crawl inside and be all, “Yippie! I’m dying of jelly inhalation! And I don’t care!” And then I’d pass with a smile on my face and jelly in my heart.
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p.s. As it turns out, slugs have a way more exciting life than I do. (photos from Flickr)
a slug out on the town (you gotta read the photographer’s caption on this one)
a phallic slug (the picture of which took me to the Environmental Phallic Symbols group)
slugs making out
slugs trying to spice things up a little
a slug smoking a cigarette afterward
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You are completely ridiculous AND fabulous which makes you pretty much perfect. Drown filthy slugs!! I’m so doing that tonight, you know that, right?
O.M.G. Look at the size of those slugs. Those slugs have been Guinness-fed!
Hmmm death by beer? Not a bad way to go if I had a choice. Although Id pick a good Irish beer for myself and the worst beer the slugs.
Two words.
Banana Slug!
http://tauceti.sfsu.edu/~chris/wonderland/manoj165.jpg
They really, REALLY stink when you throw them into the campfire…
IGOR
Dude- i hope you fed them that old crappy sparks i found in your fridge last time i was there. save the Limey’s for yourself…
No, but feeding slugs Sparks is a GREAT idea. I’ll let you know how it goes, although I feel there’s a decent chance they’ll explode.
I don’t think that is a cigarette. I think that slug is getting high.
I agree.
I agree. High off the weed I put out for him. I mean, off the weed my neighbor put out for him.