I met this cockaroach once. He was rather large, and he claimed to be some kind of writer. He was also a member of some kind of bug rights group (I think they wanted free access to kitchens across the land, if they promised not to go in the bathrooms).
Anyway, I didn’t ask him this question directly, because, frankly, it’s not something I think about. I mean, I’ve stepped on bugs, inhaled bugs, eaten bugs and crushed bugs between my fingers, so I’m not exactly a bug’s best friend.
I suppose the toilet is a reasonable place to dispose of bug remains, but given the bug rights platform, I’m not sure they appreciate it. They really prefer, so I’m told by Franz (that was the large cockaroach’s name) to have a full blown funeral with all the bells and whistles. Military guards, twenty-one gun salutes, steel lined coffins—the works.
I mean, they are rather forgiving of us when we kill them. They are surprisingly magnanimous in that sentiment. It’s just, they like proper honors. Bugs, it seems, are big on protocal. Who knew?
Anyway, if Franz were here (it is rather lamentable that at his passing, there was no one who could perform the proper rituals and ablutions), he would say that flushing them down the toilet is rather immoral and disrespectful. In the future, you should pick them up (you may use a tissue), place them carefully in an empty matchbox, and bury the matchbox under a tree in your yard.
I can sell you a gross of empty matchboxes at a very good price, if you like.