This morning, as I poured my coffee at the kitchen counter, I spotted a roach for the first time, just above the stove, between the bricks of our brick-facade wall. We bought the cabin four-years-ago and it was the first roach to encroach (rhyme intended) into our living space. And while it’s been our habit to humanely relocate insects to the outside of our home, roaches get no such consideration from me. They are ugly, dirty little goblins that spread disease and breed faster than rabbits.

Contrary to the current fashionable concern over species preservation, I have no such sympathy for the roach. The good news for the roach advocates among us is that no amount of intentional human activity could ever eradicate them; only nature itself could do that. Even if we had that ability, approximately 98% of all species that has ever existed on Earth have become extinct (unless we’ve been misinformed) yet the planet is still here with life scurrying upon it. So, not only am I wildly guessing that no amount of households, terminating every roach in-sight and out-of-sight, would put a dent in the worldwide roach population, I also assert that even if us blood-lusting roach-haters achieved the highly desirable goal of eradicating the entire roach population from Earth, the planet would be none the worse for it and humans would be greatly served by their extinction.

But like I mentioned earlier, a roach apocalypse would be impossible without nature’s help, so what’s stopping us? Let’s drop that proverbial ‘other foot’ and squash those bacon-lard-covered-greasy-little-bastards into oblivion. I’m happily doing my part without a grain of guilt.