Now it is time for this compound's greatest challenge. I turn quietly back to the fridge, Bengal in hand. He knows what's coming. I dance a mad jig on the writhing bodies of the maggots. In my mind, I can hear their weak cries for mercy.
Mercy is for losers.
He carefully hands me a gallon jug. I spin off the top, and with an unhealthy gleam in my eye, proceed to douse the fridge, shrieking obscenities and imprecations. The filthy worms twitch in agony as I cackle with mad glee. My memory fades a bit at this point. The next thing I remember, I am sitting on the floor, staring at the pretty canvas jacket I am wearing.