Of Mice and Men...well, one man to be exact.

I just got back from town, where I purchased several mouse traps.They were actually hard to find. Everyone wants more humane live traps now. Not me. I want the old school smash'em in one click Tom and Jerry contraptions, built for real business. If I could have located a large flock of Owls, I would have purchased those as well...probably for a few different reasons as well, but all the same, a gang of Owls for hire or sale are hard to come by, even in these parts where one would think it common...In case you haven't surmised, there are mice in the bunkhouse. I have seen them. I have heard them. Like last night. All night. A nest of mice have decided that my stove would make a nice safe home. They thought wrong. Little do they know that I have been blessed with a rapport with all manner of beasts, so I should have no trouble trapping the punks. Furthermore, with my innate hunting abilites and superior intllect, it will not be hard to go a step further, and not only trap them, but make them pay for keeping me up last night with their sqeaks and meandering about the inside of the stove and clicking on the tile floor. It's true, at first glance, you maybe inclined to believe they have the advantage...after all, they are 1-2 inches in size, they have an average of 10 litters a year, they can run 8 miles per hour, they can squeeze their way into a hole the size of a dime and they can leap 13 inches in height. However, I have an array of chemical, mechanical, and psychological devices at my disposal. They are driven by instinct. I am driven by, no, fueled by a searing thirst for vengenace , an indifference to the fact that "they are just animals", and possibly some sort of personality flaw/mental defect, but that is another matter altogether. Like Rambo said, "They drew first blood, not me." Except he said it a little more mumbled. But I'm getting off topic. Those mice will all be dead in 72 hours. That much can be assured. Having a solid metal rod slamed down on your spine and skull, can't be pleasent...nor can lazily waltzing out into the kitchen at night to look for crumbs, careless and smug becasue you have a nest in/under a stove...only to panic when find that the real tenat of the bunkhouse who you arrogantly thought you could just eventually squeeze out has spent the night in a local hostel, instead leaving a cadre of 15 or so starved Owls to devour you in a frenzy of hoots and feathers. It all dawns on you too late, as the Owls sharp beak rips through the your lower torso, tearing apart your nerves and sending an unbearble amount of pain to the meager brain of yours, you realize "Hey I'm jsut a mouse. It was foolish of me to keep Brad up the other night . I have no right to occupy this Bunkhouse. He does the chores so he can live here. I just try to scrap up his crumbs, have sex in the stove, and drop my feces everywhere to transimit diseases. What a Dum-Dum I am.True, I was jsut surviving, jsut being myself. But I did so at the expense of Brad's health and comfort. How wrong of me. Take me owl, in your sharp beak. Have Charon greet me. May he take me to those miserable depths where I may burn forever and ever for the transgressions I have comitted." Tonight, there will be King-Hell massacre going down in the bunkhouse above the CFI warehouse, a mouse sized Ma Lai. This acheivement will stand as a brutal, hard nosed testament to the sheer will and triumph of the human spirit. Amen.