RIP Stewart
to anyone who has been keeping up on my mouse escapade; keep up no more. . . . Stewart (or, Stew, as I liked to call him) is dead.
To anyone who had no idea that there was a mouse escapade; here it is.
About three weeks ago I came home at three in the morning to hear a shake and shimmer coming from one of the half eaten popcorn bags by my stoner roommate’s bed. (No beef with the stoner part… he just fucking messy) So anyway I just thought it was the wind, picked it up and walked over to throw it away. As I got close to the garbage the bag became possessed and when I opened it to see the cause a little grey ball jumped out, landed with a squeak and scampered under my roommate’s bed (to find refuge in another food container I’m sure.) Well, naturally I gave off a girly shriek.
Shut up! I wasn’t scared of the mouse; just the sudden discharge from what I thought was just a piece of garbage, okay!
So anyway, I let out a little man yell. And well, that was it. I went down to the front desk and got three sticky traps. I mean, that little shit was dead! Let me tell you, I slept like a baby. I mean every man would wake up on the hour hearing mouse scampers.
Well two days went by, we cleaned the room so that there was nothing of interest to a mouse, and the traps were empty. It became a joke of the past and we took the traps out, agreeing that they were a shitty way to kill something. And you know what we even decided that having a mouse visitor wasn’t the worst thing, as long as he didn’t get his mouse thing on like a Mormon and procreate the hell out of our room. We even gave him a name, Stewart.
A week went by and all was well. But, then Stewart got an ego. He started showing up at inappropriate times and chewing on our things. We didn’t let it get to us that much though. I mean, he is a mouse.
Well one night, we had company. Things were going great; there was beer, a movie, and just good times all around. Then Stew dropped by, with a hell of an entrance. He fucking slid down the wire from the desk to the floor. Needless to say we were all amazed.
One would think that a move like this would solidify Stew’s residency with us. But that little shit went pre Madonna on us and shit on my roommate’s desk and the foot of my bed. So we set up the snap trap-mouse traps with peanut butter and decided to kill that mother fucker. Cause no one, mouse or man, shits on my bed and lives.
Two days later the peanut butter was gone and replaced with a piece of mouse poo. This was, without a doubt, a deliberate insult and, in itself, a challenge. I stayed up that night thinking. . . “What is it that everyone must have?” And the answer was simple; donut. So we rigged the next trap with a piece of donut and raped wire around it so there would be no eating and terding this time. . . oh, that mouse was minutes away from his eternal blink.
Well, I awoke the night before last to a pleasant snap. . . That’s what happens when you shit on my stuff Stewart! RIP you little fuck
To anyone who had no idea that there was a mouse escapade; here it is.
About three weeks ago I came home at three in the morning to hear a shake and shimmer coming from one of the half eaten popcorn bags by my stoner roommate’s bed. (No beef with the stoner part… he just fucking messy) So anyway I just thought it was the wind, picked it up and walked over to throw it away. As I got close to the garbage the bag became possessed and when I opened it to see the cause a little grey ball jumped out, landed with a squeak and scampered under my roommate’s bed (to find refuge in another food container I’m sure.) Well, naturally I gave off a girly shriek.
Shut up! I wasn’t scared of the mouse; just the sudden discharge from what I thought was just a piece of garbage, okay!
So anyway, I let out a little man yell. And well, that was it. I went down to the front desk and got three sticky traps. I mean, that little shit was dead! Let me tell you, I slept like a baby. I mean every man would wake up on the hour hearing mouse scampers.
Well two days went by, we cleaned the room so that there was nothing of interest to a mouse, and the traps were empty. It became a joke of the past and we took the traps out, agreeing that they were a shitty way to kill something. And you know what we even decided that having a mouse visitor wasn’t the worst thing, as long as he didn’t get his mouse thing on like a Mormon and procreate the hell out of our room. We even gave him a name, Stewart.
A week went by and all was well. But, then Stewart got an ego. He started showing up at inappropriate times and chewing on our things. We didn’t let it get to us that much though. I mean, he is a mouse.
Well one night, we had company. Things were going great; there was beer, a movie, and just good times all around. Then Stew dropped by, with a hell of an entrance. He fucking slid down the wire from the desk to the floor. Needless to say we were all amazed.
One would think that a move like this would solidify Stew’s residency with us. But that little shit went pre Madonna on us and shit on my roommate’s desk and the foot of my bed. So we set up the snap trap-mouse traps with peanut butter and decided to kill that mother fucker. Cause no one, mouse or man, shits on my bed and lives.
Two days later the peanut butter was gone and replaced with a piece of mouse poo. This was, without a doubt, a deliberate insult and, in itself, a challenge. I stayed up that night thinking. . . “What is it that everyone must have?” And the answer was simple; donut. So we rigged the next trap with a piece of donut and raped wire around it so there would be no eating and terding this time. . . oh, that mouse was minutes away from his eternal blink.
Well, I awoke the night before last to a pleasant snap. . . That’s what happens when you shit on my stuff Stewart! RIP you little fuck