The other night, my girl calls me up at work crying that we have a mouse in our kitchen. So I said go catch it, I'm at work. And she said, no- that's your job since your a man. And I'm like, shit, you're right, I am a man… more of a marijuana infused, movie quoting English major type man, but a man none-the-less.

Got home at 11:30PM to find that the mouse ate a couple of my fig newtons and pooped in my pantry.  He made my woman cry. Rambo III was on TV.  I took this as a sign from God that it was time to go to war. Should I get some trip wires attached to spiked logs? Should I go get an old man on a diving board ready to be flung into a barrel by a cannon ball? How does one go about catching a mouse?

Had to go to Walmart at midnight looking for mousetraps and nobody wants to be at Walmart at midnight looking for anything. But I decided to embrace my new existence as a guy with real life problems, make the best of it. So I got 8 mouse traps and a really nice pair of And 1 shorts for a total of $7. Went home, cracked a beer and  loaded up my kitchen with traps.  I made some mazes and was feeling pretty good about myself, like a real huntin' man. Within two hours I heard the first pop. But I was already six Bud heavies deep watchin' NASCAR highlights on my couch. So I just let out a “getter done” and continued being a man in the living room for another hour or so.

Mouse got caught by his face. Trap came down on his eyes and snout. Went to go grab the trap, but he twitched and I jumped back.  He didn't die instantly. I was like fuck this, I'll get him tomorrow. The next morning that little shit was still alive. He managed to wiggle his face free but then got caught in a glue trap and died about 32 hours later. It was a horrible experience for everyone.

I caught another one this morning. He was in a glue trap just giving up on life.   I swept him into a plastic bag and he started pissing himself. I decided I couldn't let this one suffer the way I let his buddy suffer. So I grabbed my nuts,  then I got a frying pan and smashed the bag repeatedly.Something is changing inside of me. I feel like Patrick Bateman in American Psycho. I never killed a mammal before, and now I've just killed two in three days.  I found myself back at Walmart today testing the flex on some hunting bows. I want to kill a fucking deer, or punch a lion in the face. I'm a cold blooded killer now. It's only a matter of time before I start taking contract killing assignments in Uganda.

I've contemplated moving just so I don't have to kill anymore mice. A) because my bloodlust is getting out of control, and B) because if I have three mice in my house, I really shouldn't be living here, that shit is gross. I don't want to end up with the plague or anything. But I can't just move. This is my house, my cave, and I have to defend it against all walks of life. That's what a real man would do and I'm a real man now. Now excuse me while I go get drunk in the middle of the day and challenge everyone at the bar to an arm wrestling match.