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Thursday, November 11, 2010


myself as vanquisher of mice

I've become a serial killer of mice. I did not realize how busy TarBaby was, eating the mice. He ate every one he caught. There was never a mouse in the house while he was living. Now they've moved in like it's Hotel Rwanda. Evidently Caterpillar and Tapo were not interested. They watch the mice run across the floor like they're cute. Caterpillar used to catch them and I've been talking with her lately about taking an interest in killing mice again. She plays like she doesn't hear. I've been using traps. One got Caterpillar on the nose when she went to sniff the peanut butter on the trigger. I heard SNAP, pause, HISS, and Caterpillar ran off to her private place. I know that hurt like hell. When I catch a mouse it's ugly and bloody, eyes bulging out, but it's quick. I like that, for the mouse's sake. But I've lost interest in the mouse's sake.

Today I bought a package of d-con. I don't want any danger of Caterpillar getting into it. Put it in coffee mugs with a few pellets of dry catfood the mice like and a touch of peanut butter on the bottom to fill the cup with scent. One on top of the refrigerator, another on a table surrounded by things a cat cannot get through, but a mouse can, on top of the kitchen stove. I'll put a plate on top of Caterpillar's water bowl so they'll have to go outside to get water. I've heard it's water that activates it once it's eaten. I hate to do this to God's little critters, the same as I hate to run over a squirrel, a dog or a cat. When I saw a baby mouse running about, that was it. They're multiplying faster than I can catch them. That made the decision to go with biological warfare. The Saddam Hussein of Air Bellows, feeding them poison so they will die and bother me no more.

A mouse can have 120 babies in a year. A dozen mice can have 2,440 babies in a year. That's a lot of mouths to feed. And they leave mouse turds everywhere they go. I'm tired of them. I've been through have-a-heart traps, taking them to a place along the road with woods on both sides. That evolved to dropping it into a bucket of water. That was gross too, so I quit doing that and cats came along. End of mice until the mouse serial killer died. I'd still like to blow that dog's head off with a .45 magnum hollow point. Self control is important. We live in civilization where it's important that we get along with our neighbors. It goes against the grain after how many millions of years of evolution in dog-eat-dog feral ways. In tribal times, a tribe was always at war with its neighbor tribes, and allies with the neighbor the other side of the hated neighbor, who hates the same neighbor. And the one in the middle is allied with the ones the other sides of those as well. It grows until we have world wars of Germany destroying its neighbors, Japan destroying its neighbors.

By now, the Jerusalem religions are going at each other, each attempting to outdo the other in atrocities and dehumanizing torment. India and Pakistan threatening each other with nukes. The way I personally see it, political correctness about Islam fails to take history into account. The same can be said of Christendom, and the same of the Hebrews; King Saul with God saying kill em all. It must have been God that said the same thing to Genghis Khan later, and God behind the Anglo-American genocide of the people living on the North American continent. God must have something to do with the training camps at Fort Benning, Georgia, for Latin American death squads. The God of love sure gets blamed a lot for manifestations of hate. Cracks me up every time I hear "God hates" this, that or the other. And it's usually preachers saying it. Oh well.

The picture above is an absurd visioning of my war on mice. It's also a great historical document. It's the story of Genghis Khan's life from birth to the time he became the Great Khan. It's beautifully made by a German director in Mongolia with Mongolians playing the parts. It gets down and dirty. The only sensation we miss is the smells and the taste of the food, and that's a good thing. This is how I feel setting out d-con for a mass extinction. Like God says, Kill em all. Doing my part toward the genocide of varmints.

Maybe God will give me a pink Rolls Royce in heaven and I can ride around with generals and admirals, kings and emperors, the mass murderers down through time God thinks so much of. Maybe God will let me ride around with LBJ and General Sherman throwing empty champagne bottles out the windows to hear them crash on the streets of gold, popping corks out the windows at the helmets of people riding liquorcycles. God will love me all the more now that I've become a mass killer. Maybe I'll do like King David and throw a drunk party after every killing spree. Ya-hoo mountain dew. Rebel yell. The Mouse War is on. Git-er-done.


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