I’m normally a very tolerant person to all most creatures great and small, but I can tell you I’m not alone in hating you and wanting you out of my life. I’d wager (and win!) that even pro-life vegan tree-huggers all want you to die as badly as I do. Even Tibetan monks. (They shave their heads to avoid you, I’m certain.) Because you suck. Literally. You parasidic, reprehensible creatures… I want you all to die.
Not only do you make me feel dirty and weird with your very presence, but the added workload of extra laundry, vacuuming, and the endless hours of nit-picking through my daughter’s magnificent Chaka Khan hair is absolutely a scourge on my household, on my biceps, and I dare say, on my sanity. I mean, really. You exhaust me.
It is lucky for you for me this child’s kinky hair is more “caucasian” than her brother’s (who’s head we simply shave whenever you show up) and I seem able to save hers. At least this time. Because I’m vigilant as a muther, and I will not rest until you are destroyed.
And destroy you, I will, you fornicating matriarchs. Because I want you to die. Every last one of you.
But, fear not – I am not masochistic – I want you to die as quickly as possible, as I get no pleasure in seeing your numbers dwindle. Please… just die. Be gone. Vamoose, varmints. Sayonara, suckers. Get the hell out of my goddamned house, louse. Er… lice.
And make no mistake… if I could kick you all in the tacos, I totally would.
Until we meet again,