Hello, reader, how was your Thanksgiving vacation? I hope yours was great because I ended up spending much of my vacation getting mice out of my parents’ kitchen. So, after a hard summer battling pests, I ended up battling pests on my first break in six months. You can always count on mice to ruin a good time.
Have you ever noticed how dumb those little hellions are? We humans have been oppressing mice for millennia and you’d think that a Spartacus mouse would have risen up by now and started a revolt, but nope, the boneheads keep bumbling into our peanut butter laden traps.
Mind you, incited by a fearless leader, they’d be a force to be reckoned with. Imagine heading to your kitchen for a late night snack when suddenly you feel pinpricks in your ankles. You look down and see a platoon of mice shooting teeny arrows. You shoo them off with a broom and they retreat into your crawl space where their secret army base is located.
I guess the mouse rebels would have barracks and canteens that serve cheap grain alcohol. Fights would break out and blood would spill. Lady mice of ill repute would be hanging around, showing lots of cleavage. I don’t know if I’d be fascinated by that or just plain disgusted.
Hey homeowners, are drunken soldier mice singing lewd songs in your crawl space? Are they ruining your good times? Call Home Defenders now and we’ll put down that rebellion like those Roman legions of old. Hail, Caesar! (Sure, he had his faults, but at least he was a human being.)
Anyway, I got the critters out of my parents’ home. I don’t have to worry about guerrilla mice ruining our Christmas with their bawdy carols or whatever it is those lunatics do at the holidays.
Hurry up, Christmas, I need a vacation now!