Cockroaches are worse than Mike McCloskey

I thought that my days in pest control were over. I really did. But then I drove to Houston, where it seems freakouts aren't that out of the question.
I was lying on my brother's bed after a night of drinking when I saw something large and dark moving between his ceiling and the trim, which is oddly placed about an inch below. At first, most likely due to intoxication, it didn't seem all that odd to see a mouse-sized creature scurrying across the ceiling.
Then I realized it was a cockroach.
Then I freaked out.
Then I screamed for Michael to "Kill it kill it! Make it stop make it die! Make it better!"
He DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH COCKROACHES.
So... For a few drunken moments we were amused by watching the DEVIL crawl across the ceiling as the cat meowed at it. Then. Then it started preening itself and making itself at home on the ceiling. And the cat wasn't doing ANYTHING. Stupid cat. At this point we decided that it was time to take some action. This fucker needed to be flushed down the toilet. Right. Now.
Michael had grabbed a chair and a tupperware container and started to "pretend" like he was going to capture the thing, when I asked if I should step in and he agreed.
I thought I could handle it.
I couldn't.
I started hyperventilating and continued to do so until... now, I suppose.
I stood on the chair and maniacally thrust the tupperware at the ceiling, luckily capturing the "diabolical invertebrate" for a few moments. Mike handed me an REI catalog to put between the opening and the ceiling, thus trapping it indefinitely.
At this point we decided to rush it to the toilet to get the final killing taken care of.
That's when it got out. When there WASN'T A GAP FOR IT TO GET OUT. The devil cockraoch had magicked itself through a gap that didn't exist and started crawling on the OUTSIDE of the tupperware. Towards my hands.
I made a desperation/panic throw for the toilet, but obviously missed. The cockroach disappeared, and I slipped further into my nervous breakdown. My voice raised about 18 octaves, which my brother obviously enjoyed endlessly.
At this point I started yelling almost unintelligibly for Michael to get SOMETHING to fix things. He gave me a rubber broom, with which I whacked nonsensically around the bathroom with for about 2 minutes until Evil scurried out of the trash can behind the toilet. At this point I had no choice but to communicate in an alto voice, yelling for Mike to give me back the tupperware. As soon as it was in my hand I shoved it at the wall, effectively pinning the insect at about mid-torso.
Fun fact: cockroaches neither die nor slow down when their torsos are crushed. That's why Mike smashed it's head with the mop handle as it was trying desperately to escape through a grout line it had conveniently wormed it's way to. We cut its head off for good measure, with what God only knows.
We were finally able to flush the (still flailing) torso and leggy bits down the toilet as the head stayed plastered to the wall. Mike made me clean the head off of the wall and the guts off of the broom handle with rubbing alcohol, but I think that's just because he's an asshole.