Steve Irwin Memorial Meast Of The Week - Week 6
I have a mouse in my house. The thing shits all over the countertops, gets into food, and drags food underneath the stovetop. So now, whenever the mouse shits somewhere, I have to spray, scrub, and disinfect the entire area. That's in addition to my regular duties as a husband and father. Which means this fucking mouse is giving me extra chores to do.
Let me be clear about this, Mr. Mouse: YOU ARE FUCKED. Steve Irwin may have been an animal lover, but I am not. I'm an animal hater. I don't even like Animal the Muppet, or animal crackers, the band The Animals, or anything else animal-related. And, thanks to you, I've found the perfect target for my aggression. Your antics may play well with sucka niggas like Scratchy, but they sure as fuck don't with me. I live at home with a wife and child, and I write a blog. It should be pretty clear to you that I have a lot of time on my hands to fill, and finding the best way to plot your eventual murder fills the bill perfectly. You fuck.
Make no mistake: I am going to fucking kill you. You picked the wrong motherfucker to fuck with. I'm gonna set a trap, bait it with some killer Asiago you won't be able to resist, and then watch with unreprentant glee as that trap springs over your body and crushes the life out of you. How's that sound, fucko? I bet it sounds shitty. Maybe it didn't have have to be this way. Maybe if you had just kept your filthy-ass, salmonella infested droppings to yourself, and not in my Whole Foods Everything Flatbread, we could have reached a compromise.
But you fucked up. The gauntlet has been thrown down, and now I'm gonna run a locomotive straight up your mouse ass. Steven Seagal once said the anticipation of death is worse than death itself. Well, get ready for a whole lot of anticipatin', and a whole lotta dyin'. And here's something to get me in a mouse killin' swagger: it's a tarantula killing one of your fucking brothers. Fuckface.
Sayonara, bitch.
Oh, and the Meast of the Week is Seahawks kicker Josh Brown, who booted a 54-yard game winner, had another kick hit both uprights (it missed, but who gives a shit?), and who wants to nail Carrie Underwood. Yeah, I know he's a kicker. Caveman requested it, so whatever.
Fucking mouse.
17 comments:
Hey, don't forget the two-49-yarders (both in the second half).
I recommend the sticky trap. That way you can watch him try to struggle free for an hour or two before crushing his head with your boot heel.
Early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese. Just something to think about, that second mouse.
Oh, and while I enjoy seeing a Seahawk Meast, a kicker should never be. Shame on you Cap'n, and shame on you BDD for conceding.
CC is right. If pain and suffering is what you want for the mouse, go with the sticky paper. You will have a number of options for Mr. about to spend the rest of its short ass life in agonizing pain little mouse when you catch it.
If there are alley cats where you live, one option is to put it outside on the paper. Since you probably hate cats, it will work out well as the sticky paper will then stick to the cat.
You have free time? I live alone with a cat.
Also, would you like to borrow my cat?
(I hate these meeces to pieces.)
That mouse is about to meet his Pot Roast & Gravy.
Non-kicker meast of the week nominee: Troy Polamalu for keeping his crazy wig so nicely glued to his scalp.
Also, that fucking spider is nightmare fuel.
Afraid of a spider? BigO, you must be Irish.
Oh, no. The only thing Irishmen are afraid of is running out of Jameson.
No, BDD, if BigO had a tiny penis, then he'd be Irish.
Look, you're all correct, a kicker should never be Measty. However, these are special circumstances. BDD is just trying to help him score with Underwood. You know, prop him up a little, make him seem really bad-ass.
I wonder if BDD was listening to the Nickelback song "Animals" while he was typing this (??).
big daddy drew ... i think i love you. tell captain caveman to make sure to invite us all out next time you're in town. you have a fan club in williamsburg.
Is that what happened to Suzy Chreemcheez on Monday?
Maybe she got pissed at the image of Broadway Joe kissing Ann Margaret...jealous of Joe, most likely.
Sticky traps x10. Put away any pet food and stop letting any children eat unattended.
Now for the hunt. Chocolate will draw them the way way weed gets Michael Irvin. A Hershey/Reeses morsel in the middle of the trap will do. Peanut Butter in small amounts will make them run like the Hookah's on fire (and 'bout to go out). Too much and they'll use it to lubricate the glue to get away.
Next, figure out where they like to run flat out. That's where the next traps need to go. If you got droppings, then they've got to run from somewhere. Otherwise, pick all routes and drop a trap (no need to bait them all).
Finally, you can teach them to swim. Remember, a la CSI, they're their own detectives, so clean the remains
A kicker isn't going to nail her. He'd need to lie and say he was a football player-it might work if he borrowed another jersey.
Just saw a mouse in my place last night. I go old school with spring traps and peanut butter. Those sticky traps never work for shit.
You probably already knew this but mice are incontinent, as in, they can't hold their pee. SO as he is munching on your Cinnamon Toast Crunch he's wettin' on the part he didn't actually touch with his nasty salmonella-laced paws.
Terminate with extreme predjudice.
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