The Cockroach Uprising Is Upon Us

The Cockroach Uprising Is Upon Us
Image: (AP)

For generations, cockroaches have been mercilessly blasted with poison mist spouted from aerosol cans, their last breaths panted in time to a cacophony of celebratory human shrieks, but no more. The time of Raid is over, and the time of the cockroach has begun.

Science says cockroaches are increasingly becoming immune to the toxins we spew at them, and they’re passing those immunities on to their children:

“A new study out of Purdue University, published last month in Scientific Reports, looked at a group of the German cockroach species which researchers exposed to different types of insecticides over the course of six months. The study found that not only were they able to resist the chemicals, but the bugs also developed immunity. Additionally, the cockroaches can pass that same immunity on to offspring.”

In the past, a poisonous cocktail (which has a delightful, old-timey murder sound to it) was all it took to knock out chemical-resistant bugs, but the roaches are now thriving despite all our best efforts. Scientists say a single female roach can spawn up to 300 offspring in a lifetime, and chemical resistance can increase six-fold within a single generation.

Roaches are gross to look at, which is my main objection to them, but they’re also unhealthy, according to the study, which says the common German cockroach “threatens human health by producing asthma-triggering allergens [and] vectoring pathogenic/antibiotic-resistant microbes, and by contributing to unhealthy indoor environments.”

And now we’ve angered them our failed attempts to eradicate their kind. They won’t forget. They’ll never forget.

Picture a dark future in which you wheeze through the deserted streets on a dreary night, hearing the skittering of spindly legs across the pavement, feeling the brush of antenna against your naked ankle. You’re armed with only a shoe for protection. “Why has our Bengal Roach Spray God forsaken us?” you yell into the blackened heavens, but only the chirps of our cockroach rulers, gleefully stampeding through gummy leftovers, will answer.

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