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Out of context: Reply #43339
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MOTHERFUCKING MOUSE.
This is the beginning of the end. Just imagining seeing myself, hunched in the fucking closet under the stairs while the mouse has gotten itself to the end, right where the ceiling meets the carpet. Fucker had nowhere to go. I'm hunched there in pajama pants, slippers, a bath robe. I've been "cleaning" ever since I saw the fucking thing, moving shit off the ground, throwing shit away. Fucker. Little LED flashlights I've been using, now all in the closet, lighting that fucker up. I can't squish myself down that way. My hair is going everyfuckingplace. There's a tennis racket. I throw the fucking racket into the place where the mouse is. Pull it back. Mouse sticks its little fucking head out. sumbitch. Fuck you. Fuck you. Littke fucking mouse. I shake up my fucking shake-to-charge flashlight. My plastic trash can is beside me, but I have no idea... how the fuck do you get a mouse into a fucking trash can? Fucker. Look for the switch on the flashlight. Look up.
FUCKER WHERE'D THE FUCKER GO? It's already beside me, zipping toward the closet door. I jump up, my head buried in clothes hanging in there. Fucker.
Turn around. It's running back behind my wife's desk. FUCKER. I haven't cleaned there yet. I start cleaning more shit, throwing out more shit. Methodically. Leaving a corner where it's gotta be, picking up everything on either side. I'll get you, fucker. Pick up a bunch of trash that has to go out into the hall, open the door to my office. THERE'S THE FUCKING ASSHOLE OUT IN THE FUCKING ENTRY HALL. How the fuck did it get there? And HOW THE FUCK WAS IT RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING FLOOR WHEN I OPENED THE DOOR? What the fuck? Fucker. There's more shit on the floor out there. I grab the can. The fucker's under a roll of wrapping paper. Christmas. The christmas fucking wrapping paper still on the fucking floor. Where's the... THERE IT IS FUCKER. Running toward the front door, beside which there are more fucking places to hide NO YOU DON'T YOU FUCKER slam down the garbage can. It's gotta be under there, right? Gotta be. Hold it down. Those fuckers can squeeze real fucking small. Not getting out. Grab last year's desk-blotter calender, start shoving it under the fucking can. You're going across the street fucker.. are you still... wait. That's your fucking nose sticking out the side, against the box. How are you there? What the fuck... I keep pushing, shoving. Fucker.
finally i get it into the fucking can. It's dead. It's fucking dead, or acting like it. Must've broken it with the plastic can when I slammed it down.
Put water in the can. Walk outside, still in my pajamas, my robe. Throw the fucking thing out into the middle of the fucking street. Fucker.
Did I just hear something twitching in the corner????