Thursday, November 04, 2004

Murder on the Macklind Estate

I am a killer. Here is the crime scene. I killed a mouse earlier today. I have mice in my house. Or I at least had a mouse. There might be more. And I wanted to give them a sign of what they have in store for them if they want to roam on my property.

I thought I was going crazy Monday night. I thought I saw something move from my snowman pinata. It had fallen off of my chair. I stopped for a second. Later on I thought about it as I was using my bathroom. Above my toilet I have a set mousetrap, a switchblade and a bottle rocket in a soda bottle with a match. It is my own artwork or something expressing potential energy. Anyway, I broke up my bathroom installation to kill. It was not the first time the installation had been broken up for destruction. Chad Garrison lit the bottle rocket last spring at a dinner party with the rocket shooting out of the bathroom and into my hallway.

So I put some provel on this piece of art. I put the pinata in the backyard. Now that I had inadvertently decreased the mouse's mental capacity with the lead laced Mexican candy stashed inside the pinata, the trap would surely work. And it did. I got'm. The grey haired pest made it a few inches before he collapsed. It was a gruesome scene. The lil' guy had a mini pool of blood beneath his stiff rodent carcass. Right now he is rotting away in a plastic bag in my kitchen trash. I won't even show him the respect of a proper burial.

I like mice. I used to own them as a kid. I had to keep them out in the garage. My mother made me. She is a smart woman. They occasionally would make an escape. Some would fight and maim each other. Occasionally one would bite. Others crawled on my arm and my neck. One mouse even got crushed under the feet of an oblivious chum. They were fun. I bought them at the pet store over on Jefferson by my grade school. I saved up the money I made selling the three star Sunday Post.

I put some fresh provel out on my killing machine and put it next to the murder scene to flaunt my human status in the house. I need to stay on top of that food chain. But I won't eat any of the mice. I don't need to prove it that badly.

Now if it was a chicken...


Blogger Diabetoboy said...

That's a beautiful crime scene photo.

One of mine left a tooth behind in the remaining pool of blood.

Gruesome, yes, but we can't let them take over.

12:26 PM  

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