OH GOD

There is a wasp in the bathroom.

Not your average wasp, the kind that's the size of my fingernail. No, this is a monstrosity. This wasp could tangle with Godzilla, and probably win. It is, in fact, roughly the size of a whole finger. Not that I spent enough time around it to estimate size accurately.

There is no picture of it because ARE YOU CRAZY? YOU THINK I'M GOING TO GO GET MY PHONE, COME BACK, AND TAKE A PICTURE?

Yeah. No. I fled. Screw that.

You're really just going to have to take my word on this.

Oh! And it is also, apparently, indestructible.

Peter (big strong manly man, champion of helpless maidens) (shut up about the maiden part, dammit) first killed it with a fly swatter. He killed it again by spraying it with bleach. He killed it a third time, again with the fly swatter. Three times he killed it! And each time it got up and resumed the attack. A few hours later, as I prepared to take a shower, I noticed it sitting on the towel.

Watching me.

I may never bathe again.

Now, as it is morning and I really would like to wash my hair, I am attempting to construct a flame thrower of sufficient power to burn the building down.

It's the only way to be sure.