Mice.

seriously.

i hate those little fuckers.

and, over the course of the past few days, they've really been acting as the ultimate bane of my existance:

yeah, i lead a humble life — but i am quite content with my air mattress: no springs to eventually poke me in my fucking back..
..and, when summer comes, i need only deflate the sum↕bitch, and carry it with me down to the basement, so as i can easily escape the heat, needing only one of my fans set on low or medium to assist in cooling me.

i told you this, because i wanted to set up the first of two recent Atrocities committed against me: there was a reason i had been smelling the hint of a Foul Odour in a specific area of my room for, i believe, 3 days — one of those little bastards had actually gotten himself under this mattress i spoke of, and was either crushed, eventually suffocated, or had simply said ``fuck it´´ while down there.

i was becoming paranoid, in thinking that, somehow, this smell was emanating from within my perpetually-beleaguered Sinuses, as an ironic consequence of my having had The Last Bad Tooth removed from my jowl a coupla months back; obviously not..
..but i was definitely having more problems with the sinuses [that culminated whenever i woke back up] anyway, presumably from the pathogens that were seeping from out of The Corpse.


son-of-a-bitch.


had it been a different time of my life, i would have just let It go for days or possibly even weeks longer (until, perhaps, The Odour had become unbearable)..
..but, now, i have Dignities: so..
..no.


accordingly, i looked around the periphery of the corner in which my bed lie^(♫)..
..not spotting the potential carcass.

hoping i won't find what i had thought i would..
..but noting that The Smell was strongest around the bottom, upon lifting my only real Safe Haven, i would go on to bear witness a sight that made my skin crawl, and my temper sour.


this was not how i had wanted to spend the rest of my friday evening before i'd start getting ready for work, it suffices enough for me to proclaim^(♫); but, i had to muster up my courage and confront the issue head-on.

_\↕/_ _\↕/_

and, yesterday, the one other thing to which i did not need my Witness borne as i was rushing to get my clothes on directly after i had stepped from out of the shower (since i was in imminent danger of missing My Prefered Bus), was holes around one of the pockets of my [work] shirt.

not especially holes in the pocket of the shirt that i had just fucking bought barely a week ago — not the Dickies Shirt, that i had already fell in love with, which complemented the fuck out of the black jeans i had bought, also on that same day.

"is someone trying to torture me?" i asked my subconscience, as i charged back to my changing area in the basement to find a suitable alternative.


i was so pissed..
..for, not only had i effectively lost the shirt (which was capable of bestowing upon me a Cholo Look), i had also lost the [rest of the] candy bar which was that god-damnèd mouse's target.

~↕↕~

nothing is sacred to them, i see; i don't understand how a cartoon like Tom & Jerry can even exist: there is nothing cute about those mother↕fuckers.

at all.

nothing Tom could have wrought upon jerry was as mean as what jerry and his ilk regularly does to people "off-camera": and they never show his Turds strewn arbitrarily around, either, for example.



i had, two houses ago, taken to burning mice alive, whenever i had them caught on a glue pad; now, fueled by the image of my damn shirt—which thankfully can be replaced, easily,—i might just stab them directly.



if only we could find a non-retarded cat for this place..
..life would probably begin to become ... semi-semi-semi-perfect.



he could travel the house freely as long as he confirms all of his kills for me, when i am around.

---

(♫) (this was not Good.)
(♫) (Putrecine sure is hard to get from out of carpets, huh?)