Dearest Grub,
So, you thought you would marshal your resources and launch a sneak attack, huh? Little did you know who you are facing. I have long studied the works of Tacitus, Jomini, Mao Zedong, et cetera. I am a man of ample resources, much spare time, and few morals. If you had launched your bid for dominance on my neighbors lawn, I would have laughed and cheered you on. But no; You chose the path that must lead to the demise of you and your kind.
You really should have talked to your good friends, the house spiders, before beginning on your path to destruction. Ah, yes, you haven’t spoken to any house spiders lately, have you? Hahahah, you fool! I waged total warfare against them! The Raid Maxx was amusing, oh yes. But this invention of hippies, this mint oil ‘Poison-Free’ insecticide, it was their doom. For shame! You will note that your other comrades, the ants and the mice, are also quiet. One day, if you should defeat me, you may learn the art of Necromancy. Then, and only then, could you speak to your other brethren, for they also tested my mettle, and they also died.
But there shall be no such luck for you, my nemesis. There will be no pleasant slumber, coaxed to the afterlife by the sweet smell of mint oil. No, you will get ‘parasitic nematodes’. You will get isofenphos and imidacloprid and bendiocarb, to name but a few of the new Hells that modern chemistry makes available to me.
I have studied the wars of Hitler and Tojo. I have gleaned that they acted too hastily; Not I. I have patience. Sure, you will get a sprinkling of bendiocarb now, but I know that this autumn, as the leaves turn gold, you will turn dead. I will unleash a host of evils upon you, and you will squirm for mercy.
Come to think of it, all I ever see you do is squirm, but I know that is just your foul grub-speak for, “Hark! Brutus! We eat at the roots of your lawn! Yes, the same lawn that you pried from the jaws of Death years ago. The same lawn that you tend as if it were your life-quest. Green and lush? Nay! Yellowed and dying, that is our domain, Brutus.” Yes, I divine all that from your squirming. Disquieting, is it not, that I know so much about you? I savor your fear.
Count your days, Br’er Rhizotrogus Majalis. Your days of life, in this world, are coming to an end.
Regards,
Brutus.
