Fighting with Cockroaches

We have been finding them laying/lying (please correct me, Grandpa) on their backs in our living room.  The first time it happened, the beastly bug was near a door being snacked on by ants.  Gesa (i.e. roomate) poked it out from under the door with a butter knife (yumm) and shoveled it outside, ants and all.  To tell the truth, I had actually seen it laying there for at least an hour, hoping I wasn't going to be the one to clean it up.  While removing the first roach, Gesa remarked upon the fact that the damn thing was still alive.  Oh, and I should note that these roaches are about  three inches long.  Gesa thinks they look like dates.  Great.

So, about fifteen minutes ago, I go to fetch my computer to write you all a lovely note about my adventures learning how to ride a scooter, when I see another (or perhaps, the same) creature, belly-up in the living room.  Gesa is not home, and even if she were, I think she would make me play exterminator.  So I go fetch a dirty hand wipe and a used plastic bag, place the wipe like a shroud over the roach and then grasp the bag is if I'm picking up dog sh*t, when the lovely creature proceeds to flip itself over and scurry away.  Ok, well at this point I'm now horrified and I retreat to the kitchen.  My senses go into overdrive and I feel the roach crawling  up my sweatpants, a loose lock of hair becomes the roach on my neck... well, you get the picture.  I send Gesa a text message saying, "I'm fighting with a cockroach."  Although I don't want to deal with the roach again I also hope it is not in the wall and plans to creep out into my bed tonight.  Then the roach reappears.  This time means WAR.  Arming myself with the dustpan and an empty wine bottle, I slam down onto the bug.  For fear of cockroach guts on the bottom of the dustpan, I leave it there for a second, step back and look around.  Then, out from under the shadow of our 70's style bar, I see roach antennae poking out.  FABULOUS.  HE'S NOT DEAD. I retreat, confirm that the dustpan is clean (as clean as it should be) and wait for him to make his next move.  Needless to say, the  stupid bug does crawl out again.  I think to myself, "I must attack now or have nightmares tonight."  Descending upon the bug, I growl, "YARRR" and lance the bottle on top.  My aim is perfect, the roach is under the bottle.  After getting my flashlight to examine the damages, I do indeed see an antennae (or maybe a leg) poking out from under the bottle.  Victory!  Well, the epilogue is this: 1) As I sit here writing about the friggin' bug who didn't even deserve to live, I have realized that he has now been eternalized in this here blog, which is probably only slightly creepier than the fact that I must later go and clean his puss-filled remains out from under the bottle, which, I might add, is not getting recycled.  It is going straight into the trash.