Balls of steel. Balls of fucking steel. I envisioned myself in this scenario. Alligator in my pool? It’s simple. I no longer have a pool. The pool belongs to the alligator now. Turf war rules. Yeah I bought the pool but, if an alligator catches me slipping one night and takes it over, then it’s his pool now. Fair and square. Sort of like the closet in my apartment. The first week I moved in I saw a GIANT bug in the closet and haven’t opened it since. That closet now belongs to the bug because I’m a baby back bitch. I would rather give up valuable space in my apartment than have the chance of confronting something that scares me. I can adapt. I’m Irish. I just no longer have that closet. Same goes with a pool and an alligator. Well that’s not how things work in Florida apparently. Alligator in the pool? “Let me get my alligator rope.” That guy absolutely has a rope that is strictly for alligator removal. Gets his alligator rope, ropes the alligator and problem solved. They fish alligators outta their pools in Florida like the rest of us kill spiders in our apartments.