I DESIGNED SOMETHING.
FOR MY OWN PLEASURE.
The story of The Flying Cockroach is that when I came home on Monday, there was one waiting for me in the living room. The size of my thumb. I wont get into detail, long story short was that after calming down (talking to myself loud - "oké. oooké. oké. jó. nyugi. nyugodj meg."- staring at that ANIMAL, knowing that I had to kill it otherwise I would NEVER be able to sleep again, also knowing that I had one chance, if I missed it, it would run/fly away and I would never find it) I killed it with one of my sandals and that was it.
Since when do fucking cockroaches F-L-Y?!
