I AM babushka. And not some wrinkled American rip-off with a social security check and a round trip ticket to Las Vegas. No, THE genuine article. THE babushka. Unlike the primitive babushka in the icy Motherland, I have all the technological weaponry of an industrial capitalist nation arrayed before me. This IS babushka with a Soviet military stockpile, and not some wimpy conventional bunker full of shit but the real thing. Stalin's private stash. The good stuff from before the Geneva convention. Super strength tub and shower cleaner, and it doesn't just clean. It kills. It kills fungus, mildew, cockroaches. Puppies if they lick it. Kittens if they step in it. Canaries unless you open a window and turn on a fan. Anything that is living it kills, like a bilious cloud of mustard gas. But instead of wheezing, crying, gas, gas. It's foam, foam. Run. It's foam. Run while you still can. Foam!
And dolphins. Forget about it. If one barrel of the stuff makes it down the drain to Lake Wingra there won't be enough dolphin left in all the seven seas to fill a tuna fish can.
Anything living is killed, but dead things, oh yes, dead things...the power of this chemical is so strong that dead things come back to life and walk stiff legged across the bathroom tiles with glazed eyes searching hungrily for VODKA to feed their undead thirst. (Vodka is both the reward and the weakness of the babushka.) What orthodox prayer or soviet death gas can save the babushka from these legions of resurrected ants, spiders, moths, and worse, stumbling drunk on vodka as they seek to avenge the recent deaths of their comrade vermin, until, slower and slower, groping blindly to a stop as the powerful chemicals leach from the empty husks they animate, they crumble back to dust in the crevices of my bathroom floor to feed the empty mildew dreams of babushka vengeance for one more year. I AM babushka.