Battle Bats
By Mark David Blum, Esq.

The battle raged for two hours. Primarily the attack was by air. Ninjas came down the chimney. It was me; alone. With only my hands as weapons, I fought them back. One, then the other, one after another, I drove back the enemy long enough to rush the womenfolk to safety. Once the innocents were secure, I returned my attention to the attackers. Timing their movements precisely, I managed to knock one into a room and trapped him. I was cut off from all communications as they captured my gear and territory where my broadcast stations were, it was just me – and them. Then, there was another. Apparently, they had reorganized and were now flying in formation; round and round, testing me, teasing me, daring me to make the first move.

Blood had already been spilt. Their initial assault was an after dark kamikaze dive bomb attack from my 5 o’clock. No warning; no hint of an invasion. I was surprised by the sudden attack and caught off guard. Screaming like a 12 year old girl, I dove for cover on the floor leaving a few miles of skin merged into the carpet. Both knees bleeding; just a flesh wound but forever a reminder. Battle scars, baby. Bastards missed me. That was their mistake.

The bat was secure in the bedroom, the women safe in another. A message was sent to the marines but as usual, they were taking forever. That’s when the other two bats showed up and the battle was joined. It was up to me to clear the house. Timing their taunting flight patterns, I waited until I thought the time was right, and swung the only weapon I could find – a pillow. Derek Jeter aint got nothing on how hard my adrenaline drove that pillow into the face of that oncoming bat. I sure stunned his ass I did; he fell to the ground. But, this was not time to celebrate as the second bat dive bombed me which again sent me flying for cover resulting in my dining room table getting crushed by my body weight falling on it. (Wood glue should fix it). Meanwhile, the little bastard that was pillowwhacked crawled around for a moment and once again took to wing. Again they circled; like the demons on the hunt. Round and round and round and round. I just sat in the corner under a blanket and watched and plotted murder.

As I huddled in retreat in my corner and watched for more of those little black bastards to sneak in. The time came to bring out granny four barrel; a four barrel nerf gun that you have all seen and heard of the perfect head shot I made on that fat bastard lawyer. Since I could do nothing but watch the bats fly around and wait for the exterminator, I spent the next half hour shooting nerf projectiles at the moving targets. Hey, I couldn’t get to my computer and play on Facebook and I needed to be entertained.

So I fired and fired and fired. 25 shots, not one hit. My calls to the Russian(s / seperatists) have gone unanswered. Mossad is too busy right now. So the basts flew and flew until the exterminator knocked.

“Come in”, giggled I when he knocked.

Have you ever gone to the doctor with a real bad ailment only to have all the symptoms disappear just before you go in? You know that feeling that you arent being believed. My thinking was to let the expert see the problem in real time.

In he came and at him came the bats. Without batting an eyelash, he watched them take one lap and on the second pass, he smacked one with his baseball cap and got the second on the trip around. Two shots, two down, two bagged, and two released. Killing bats is apparently illegal in New York. Nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh Nuh ….

We then chatted about the events of the hours previous. He was not surprised to hear about my manly response to the initial response. Apparently according to him, that happens 100% of the time. I then got the full lecture on bats. An assistant arrived and the two of them explored the whole of the living space searching and then locating the point of entry. The boss left to get supplies.

The assistant and I were left to find that third bat locked in my bedroom. Now we were on offense. As we searched, he was telling me this was his first job and his wife was reading to him as he was driving how capturing bats is done. My confidence sunk faster than Malaysian Airlines stock. Nevertheless, now I was properly armed with a cookie sheet and he with ping pong paddle looking thing. Slowly we opened the door and went into the belly of the beast.

Nothing. Quiet. No movement. Television on, computer still up on the soverign citizen website sign up page, telephones, paperwork, and other stuff scattered all around. No bat. We looked. We peeked. We poked. Everywhere. No bat.

No bat in the closet. No bat in the bed. No bat for me to find and beat until dead. Not under the desk, the drawers, and the stand. No bat was around; nowhere in the land.

“Bullshit”, said I. It’s in here, I know. But no. We searched over here and we searched over there. We searched way up high and on the down low. No bat.

After an hour, we concluded that the bat has escaped or was so well hidden it wasn’t going to be found. Around midnight, there was still no sign of a bat, the hole has been fixed, exterminator is long gone, and me and missus are still searching and nothing. No bat.

She decides the room is clean and safe. For her, the situation is comfortable enough for her to sleep. In her mind, one of the two bats removed was the bedroom bat. The exterminator agreed since we never did see 3 bats at once and the bat should have shown itself after the search we did.

Me? I aint sleeping in that room. Not me, no way, nuh uh,notta chance. I may be crazy but I aint that crazy.

The rest you saw coming. Just as things are quiet and everybody is drifting off and one blood curdling scream later, the war was on. She was laying in bed watching television and suddenly the bat was flying around and around in circles over her head. She was hiding under the covers.

I knew the trick. One lap, … (“make it go away!!!”), two laps, … (“DO SOMETHING”), three laps, … (“HURRY”). Then, THUNK. Cookie sheet home run into the wall. Booyah. Pillow case gurney, and over the balcony ambulance ride to the hard ground hospital visit. For the record, the bitch got up and flew away. The bat was fine too.

Now, twenty four hours later, my hyper alertness has diminished some. All my weapons returned to their locked and safe positions. Most broken things fixed or tossed. Wounds scabbed over.

I swear that as I write this, I am sitting outside in the dark, as around me swirl dozens of bats. Bats are my friends. They eat bugs – especially mosquitos and their chaotic flying is itself a form of aerial ballet. Bats don’t scare me. Caught in the house, they are as dangerous as a bird that gets inside. They just want out. I share their sentiments.

As long as they remain outside, we are buds. But in my cave, dey be robin my peace and by gordon, I will gotham.

Once the night turned to day and each of us arose, for a moment we stood and just looked at each other. You could see the shell shocked look in everyone’s eyes. One by one, we all had the same greeting for each other. “I am count dracula. I vant to bite your neck.”

Alas, if only this was the first time. True story:

Today, I bought a tennis racket.

Back to the MarkBlum Report

It is always a far better thing
to have peace than to be right.
But, when it is not,
or when all else fails

P.O. Box 82
Manlius, New York 13104
Telephone: 315.420.9989
Emergency: 315.682.2901

Always, at your service.

web page counters