This ain't Disney World, so I'm not really sure why we've got Mickey Mouse running up and down Claver 2nd floor shaking hands and taking pictures with any guy with a box of donuts and a dorm room. A man's room is his safe haven, it's his sanctuary, it's his chamber of love (or for guys like me who aren't getting any it's a place of masturbation). You don't fuck with where a dude masturbates.
Anyways, this whole Mousecapade started over the weekend when my big, bad fellow blogger damn near shit himself at the sight of a furry little rodent scurrying across the carpet of my immaculate room. Let me make it very clear that there has not been mouse sighting since Mucc fled the scene, but just like any good high school bomb scare where a girl says she's gonna blow the place to bits because "it's a fuckin hell hole and no one deserves to be called a whore every day," (Wait, that didn't happen at your high school? Welcome to Winnacunnet I guess?) we had to take precautions. The room was cleaned and mouse traps were purchased. Mickey Mouse can only terrify poor innocent boys for so long.
Night one with the traps produced no results, night two, same story, but night three, night three we got something. I awoke to the obnoxious scratching and clawing of a mouse trying to free himself from the confines of a sticky trap. (Note to self: NEVER buy sticky traps). After two hours of struggle and two hours of no sleep the struggle stopped and I was certain we had our first victim and had collected breakfast for the morning. The morning, however, was only a disappointment. There were signs of struggle all over the trap, but no mouse. No fuckin mouse.
But you know what, we learned a couple lessons here. One, don't ever be cheap with mouse traps. Buy something that kills on the spot. It's instant death or nothing. Don't get cute with these motherfuckers cause they're better than you and they know it. Kill the sorry son of a bitch. And two, if you have one in your grasp don't let it get away. I don't care how tired you are, or that it's 3 in the morning. Get up and kill the damn thing. You might not get another chance. So, we lick our wounds and move on. This shit ain't over Mickey Mouse. You took the first round. Well played. But I can assure you I won't sleep until I'm roasting your sorry ass over the campfire.
Stay tuned...
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