The Battle of the White Porcelain Farm Sink... As they swarmed about seeking sweet, I sluiced them with hot tap water from a pickle jar until they swirled down the drain. Thus went my brief battle with this Spring's ant population that always seem to find our kitchen in April, but what is a brief battle to some is to others a tragedy that is still unfurling it's full fury. Who am I to know there are not now ants in the ant equivalent of a pub, say an empty can of creamed corn behind the garage, sitting on a sliver of wood, leaning against the bar singing doomed, Irish flavored fighting songs, And on the fine gray morning a thousand went forward but only three returned and the banshees do wail? Or ant poets, deep in a woody maze, are penning long, tragic elegies comparing the slaughter to Wounded Knee or My Lai, Babi Yar, Today gentle reader at the Battle of the White Porcelain Farm Sink, thousands died because they were merely ants, merely ants seeking sweet and lo we shall and must remember these ants, remember and never forget, for if we forget, it shall happen again. Or two ants on the ant equivalent of a street corner arguing over the tragedy, I told you never to trust the White Man. He is devious and bent upon our destruction. This massacre at the White Porcelain Farm Sink only serves to further demonstrate this truth and I do not see why you are going to stand there and defend the dastardly deeds of this demon. I mean come on, how much more of The White Man's shit are going to swallow? While the other ant nods dejectedly and says maybe you're right. Or a lone ant says I hope he doesn't swish me down the sink with hot water from that pickle jar because I am the re-incarnation of his Uncle Bob and I sure wish he would just put down that pickle jar and realize there are people here he knows and he should be more respectful and maybe he should look at Buddhism or Hinduism a little bit closer because it is all...but before he can say TRUE he is swished down the sink with hot water from the pickle jar and the truth will never be revealed to me and I have inadvertantly killed the truth by swirling these ants down the drain with scalding hot water from a pickle jar. I'll bet you never wagered that was how the truth died. At least now when someone asks you after witnessing lies misdeeds, deceit, plagiarism whatever happened to truth? You can say Steven Kramer killed truth at The Battle of the White Porcelain Farm Sink, May 3rd 2006.