The Art of Killing Mickey

Hola Virtual Readers, welcome to yet another edition of TSTABG, thanks for tuning in . . . and I'm sorry you don't have one thing better to do. Spring has definitely sprung and with this getting sprung comes some hard choices. See what I did there? Oh, behave. Yes, with the good, spring and summer, come some serious choices. Thirty of fifty sunblock? Long shorts or my Daisy Dukes? Sandals with socks? To murder or not murder the varmints that come along with the warmer weather. The story I'm about to relay dear Virtual Reader is fraught with terror, plotting, revenge and hopefully murder. Now before I begin I want you all to know that I normally don't have murder in my heart and thoughts. I am a live and let live sort of fella. Every living thing has a right to its own space in our environment. Except for maybe mosquitos, I kill those assholes like there is no tomorrow. Oh, and wasps, those bastards are evil and should die a quick and painful death. My favourite death mechanisms are those electrified tennis rackets, those evil bastards cook right up and pop like corn. I digress.

So last night I return home from the place I go five days a week and they give me money, a little earlier than normal. I decide to use this quiet time to sit down and play a little Xbox. Now don't give me any shit here people, I realize I'm a shit player and the twelve-year-olds who wipe me out faster than wiping their snotty noses prove it. So I refuse to play with said snotty noses and just do the solo excursions. So there I was last night, playing in the dark with my headphones on, enjoying the quiet time murdering bad guys. Or good guys. Hell, I don't know, I was murdering someone. Then out of the corner of my eye, I see a dark blur move across the floor. Well, I just about shit my britches. Let me tell you I was fairly sure that I had just seen a mouse run across the floor but, at the same time, my mind whispered it could be a large, fast spider. Because by the light of the sixty inch TV I just couldn't be sure what it was, exactly, that I saw. A small silver lining was that I had headphones on so I surely couldn't hear the clicking of the spider's eight legs on the tile floor. Or could I? I was frozen in both surprise and terror. Okay terror might be a bit of an over exaggeration but you get the idea, right? I mean what do you do? It's late and everyone else in the house is fast asleep, I couldn't just grab a hunk of wood and start hunting this thing down. At the same time, I really didn't want to let this monster roam around all night unchecked. And let's be honest I couldn't go on playing my game with the same enjoyment as I was enjoying just moments before. So I played for another twenty minutes or so and then I went searching for mouse/giant spider traps. I found neither of these types of traps even though I was sure that we had some. They must be in the same spot as that spare spool of weed whacker line that I know we have but can't find.

I was standing by the loveseat, in the light of the TV, when the little bastard runs from the coffee table under the futon. Jesús María the little bastard was laughing at me. It knew I couldn't do battle without waking everyone in the house up. Crafty little rodent. El Loco.

I think that I should tell you that this isn't the first time I've had to do battle with these hairy little, disease-carrying critters and let me tell you they pile in. At first, you see just one but if you don't engage right quick, pretty soon you see the same one but smaller, or thinner, or browner and then . . . hey, wait a second that is not the same disease ridden varmint. That's right, they multiply, like bunnies but not nearly as cute or tasty.

So I thought where can I get a cat or a large mouse eating snake at damn near midnight? I quickly dropped this line of thinking. Not because it wasn't plausible but simply because I'm not a fan of cats or snakes. So I did the only thing a guy could do in this particular situation. I crawled into bed and snuggled up to my lovely, while she slept without the knowledge of the tiny monster, or monsters that lurked out in the darkness. My sleep was broken and disturbed with the idea of the nose twitching little bastard out in the dark, watching us sleep. Who knows, maybe the little terror crawled up the blankets and perched upon us? I don't know for sure but it could happen.

There are a few different styles of traps at the store and I want you to know that I did consider buying the one where the little devil lives and I release it back into the wild. Except that for this creature, the wild is our basement and I felt I needed to make an example out of this one. He shouldn't have laughed at me that second time. So I went with the old and never improved Victor mousetrap. The one, that if you aren't really careful, will break at least two of your fingers. It has a kill bar. That's right, a bar, that kills. I purchased four of these kill machines and quickly set them up in strategic locations. I managed to not break any of my fingers although it was touch and go with the last trap, damn thing nearly got me. As a side note, I went with peanut butter instead of the proverbial cheese as bait.

So now I wait and listen for the bone-crunching snap of death.

AW

"Everyone wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die." Unknown