So when I last heard those mouse squeaks I thought they were squeaks of pain leading to an agonizing death, but I was wrong. The next morning I walk into the kitchen hoping to find the mouse fighting for its life, but I was wrong. And I was filled with such anguish. The anguish did not stop me from vacationing to Ohio, getting extremely drunk at my friend's wedding reception and in the process hopelessly gyrating to Soulja Boy's "Crank That" in a dance off with a 10 year old boy in which I lost, but I was still harboring much resentment for the manufacturers of the glue trap even as I was driving back home 4 days later.
Well much to my surprise I found not just one mouse stuck by 3 mice adhered to plastic. Remy, the smallest fuck of the three, was dead already but his two bigger partners, Pinky and the Brain were flailing helplessly as they saw their doom personified as a lumbering 6 foot mass with a penchant for tugging aimlessly on his penis (refer to Winky Pull post). Instead of devising a plan to take over the world, every night these two bastards sought out to eat, piss, shit and fuck all over my fucking kitchen. Well their plotting and scheming was about to end and this chapter in my life was going to be finally over. I immediately cackled to myself and let them know their fate.
You're gonna die.
Well seeing these fuck sores move, squirm and eek their last cries sincerely fucked with my being. These disease riddled mutants grossed me the fuck out and I searched all over my apartment for a pair of tongs to handle the trap as I would man it across several treacherous obstacles including winding 3 story staircase, a 20 foot stretch of slick pavement, and a slew of vehicles parked in a manner much similar to how special needs children scribe their name until I would finally reach the dumpster graveyard. Well since I live in an apartment and do not own a grill, I never had the necessity nor desire for tongs until this very moment, so of course this meant I had to handle the trap by hand fearing the dynamic duo would spring free, bite on my hand, give me Rabies or super AIDS and then run back to their lair under my oven. I held on and extended the trap away from my body as far as I possibly could and pussied my way down the stairs, over the sidewalk, past the parking lot and to the trash cans where the duo would be tossed into a tomb of Mandingo semen, rotting chicken carcasses and shredded credit card bills as the final incomprehenisble words were uttered into their insignificant ears.
Bitches, You Gone.
Well much to my surprise I found not just one mouse stuck by 3 mice adhered to plastic. Remy, the smallest fuck of the three, was dead already but his two bigger partners, Pinky and the Brain were flailing helplessly as they saw their doom personified as a lumbering 6 foot mass with a penchant for tugging aimlessly on his penis (refer to Winky Pull post). Instead of devising a plan to take over the world, every night these two bastards sought out to eat, piss, shit and fuck all over my fucking kitchen. Well their plotting and scheming was about to end and this chapter in my life was going to be finally over. I immediately cackled to myself and let them know their fate.
You're gonna die.
Well seeing these fuck sores move, squirm and eek their last cries sincerely fucked with my being. These disease riddled mutants grossed me the fuck out and I searched all over my apartment for a pair of tongs to handle the trap as I would man it across several treacherous obstacles including winding 3 story staircase, a 20 foot stretch of slick pavement, and a slew of vehicles parked in a manner much similar to how special needs children scribe their name until I would finally reach the dumpster graveyard. Well since I live in an apartment and do not own a grill, I never had the necessity nor desire for tongs until this very moment, so of course this meant I had to handle the trap by hand fearing the dynamic duo would spring free, bite on my hand, give me Rabies or super AIDS and then run back to their lair under my oven. I held on and extended the trap away from my body as far as I possibly could and pussied my way down the stairs, over the sidewalk, past the parking lot and to the trash cans where the duo would be tossed into a tomb of Mandingo semen, rotting chicken carcasses and shredded credit card bills as the final incomprehenisble words were uttered into their insignificant ears.
Bitches, You Gone.
