The two cockroaches seemed to be working in tandem to mess with my head so I named them Oprah and Dr. Phil. Oprah and Dr. Phil were worthy adversaries and I knew immediately that they would not be easy to defeat. No amount of machismo or movie trivia knowledge was going to intimidate these two killing machines.
I grabbed some bug spray and gleefully took to spraying down the roach infested workspace. Oprah and Dr. Phil may have checked into my hotel, but they damn sure were not checking out.
My foes must have sensed my approach with insect cunning since neither could be seen. I knew Oprah was ordering Dr. Phil to hide since Dr. Phil is dumb and cannot be trusted to think for himself.
But Dr. Phil was too dumb for even Oprah to control. While I was moving a stack of books, Dr. Phil jumped from his hiding spot and full on bum-rushed me. I countered once again with "the robot" just in the nick of time.
Abyss. I tapped every chair and every stack of books once, twice, three times before trusting my delicate flesh to touch it. Every flicker in my peripheral vision triggered an immediate and emphatic karate chop.
Alas, I had scared off Oprah and Dr. Phil.
I finished my task and went off to eat lunch, careful to wash my hands of cockroach spray and fear. When I came back, I found out my little, 60 year old female boss killed one of the bugs. I didn't see the corpse myself, but I'm assuming it was Dr. Phil's since he's too dumb to live.
Oprah remains at large.