Mouse in My House

October 14, 2002

he mouse in my house
has the run of the land.
He pees in my porridge
and he shits in my hand
while I lie sleeping,
naively unaware
that the mouse in my house
is nibbling on my hair.
And eating my breadcrumbs!
And drinking my pop!
I have asked him nicely,
politely to stop.
But did this dissuade him,
persuade him to cease?
He just ate my cold pizza,
every last doughy piece.

And as if to taunt me
he loves to play
and roll in my bed sheets
while I am away.
He loves to go dipping
in my marinara sauce
and to leave marinara footprints
up, down and across,
and on up the stairs
to the top of my bedspread
where I sleep unawares.

He ate all my baloney!
Now this is no joke.
And he twice left the tops off
my toothpaste and Coke.
One went quite flat,
and the other went hard.
And this mouse in my house
left his bike in my yard!
It's not like it would kill him
to put the toilet seat down,
or wipe the mud off his feet
when he's been mousing around town.

There's just no reason he can't
put his playing cards away
or clean up his jigsaw puzzles
at the end of the day.
Or close the front door
when he's gone out to play.
Or whisper more quietly
when he kneels down to pray.
But the one mousey caper
I just cannot forgive
is when he got my sister pregnant.

I hope you like d-Con, mouse.

Quote of the Day

“Fascism is not the devices and mechanisms that force us to our knees, but those who operate in the shadows and convince us "on our knees" is the place we're born. And the first seed of fascism is rent.”

-Crosby in 3F, every first of the month

Fortune 500 Cookie

Today is not your day, buddyâ€”by a horrible bit of luck, your day was exactly six weeks before you were conceived. The good news is you look a lot like William Daniels; the bad news is that doesn't pay much these days. Watch out Thursday, when you're nearly buried in a deluge of Fangoria magazines that have been building up in your closet. Lucky numbers? You want luck? Eat me, sadsack.

Try again later.

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