I found a couple of fleas on my floor the other day, so I ran out and bought some flea powder and doused the apartment with it. Wish I had read the fine print, because what I apparently had bought was some kind of flea NutraSystem. At this moment, the fleas and their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren are making a grand pilgrimage up my leg to petition me for more of this delicious fertility dust. I even forced five deadly pills down Bernice's throat, or to be more accurate one pill five times, and it still sits in pristine, if slightly cat-saliva-specked, condition on the kitchen floor. Maybe the queen flea will spot it and swallow it whole, and eventually spawn a generation of satchel-sized steroidal progeny who will demand their own room and a daily pint of my own warm blood and a TV with cable and not that basic shit either.