Using cuss words the way they were meant to be used

I rode Adelaide tonight. She's a Thoroughbred mare at the PRA (the place in which I ride-, Gerard's place) that I have been lucky enough to take lessons on and so I wanted to write about my ride while it was still fresh in my mind.
That's why I
walked into my computer room to turn on my monitor and found ANOTHER cockroach. I then ran outside to get the DEMON. People, this is a sprint because in a blink of an eye these FUCKERRRRRRRS can run to South Africa and back.
"GRRHhhh!"

See, I found out last night when I went to spray the one on the living room wall that the DEMON was getting low, so I grabbed the spray too. This time I took the spray AND the DEMON as my weapons. I'm so sick of this I can't even tell you. I sprayed the shit out of my freshly painted wall with the nozzle spurting and burping from the small amount of liquid left then, as the botherment was running down the wall toward the floor I hit it with a few blasts of the spray...until...the spray wouldn't spray anymore. THERE'S STILL HALF A CAN LEFT AND NO SPRAY POWER! "That's alright" I thought, because I had already got this one good and I have three more applications of DEMON left. I'll just make some more....

So now, I'm still wanting to write about my great ride tonight but I'm derailed. I just wanted to turn on my computer and go pee, and now I'm mixing up another DEMON concoction in the twenty dollar sprayer to again arm the parameter of the house, inside and out. Immediately. Needless to say I'm a little agitated and using cuss words the way they were meant to be used.

I throw the self-dissolving packet of poison into the sprayer and fill it with water, screwed the cap on and shook.

"ok then. I'll just WAIT to write about my great ride on Adeliade."

I go to grab the twenty dollar sprayer to lift it out of the sink and THE. TOP. BROKE. OFF. Yep, I am now at this moment defenseless. No spray. No DEMON. Looking around this room every two seconds for a blur of brown scurrying through the light. Because now, with the state of things; that's what I do. I can't help it, they made me this way. I know, that they know, that I'm pretty much helpless. They're plotting to spend the night under a glass so that they can stare at me while I'm writing. Hah. They must be Catholic because guilt seems to be their only offense.

I questioned myself as if i should run to the other demon, WalFart and retrieve a sprayer and some new spray but those stinking cockroaches aren't going to make me go to WallFart. I mean, just how much of myself do I have to sacrifice for these jagoff bugs?

--I even hate spraying them. It kills me to see them turned over moments before their death legs all frailing and gasping for air. I have to leave the room when this is happening. REALLY. Now I know what my parents meant when they said "This hurts me as much as it hurts you." right before I got my ass beat. (**looking-around**).