Psychotic Mice Demand Cheese Boots

ice genetically engineered to be psychotic by researchers at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center have refused to go on with testing this week, threatening to bring the program to a halt until they are given the “cheese boots� they so desire. The mice, bred to be insane by the mutation of two genes, have been used in a series of experiments over the last two months researchers hoped would shed new light on schizophrenia and its genetic components, information that could one day aid in treatment and prevention of the debilitating mental illness.

Researchers are uncertain where the mice got the idea about cheese boots, but insist that the mice are “fucking nuts� if they think the UT team is going to devote hours to carving tiny mouse boots out of cheddar cheese.

Since the mice made their original demand they have become belligerent and uncooperative, refusing to take part in various insanity-measuring trials. The mice’s normal routine involve tests of “crazy-maze� navigation, spatial perception in relation to tiny carnival funhouse mirrors, and proper differentiation between funny mouse movies, like Mouse Hunt, and serious mouse movies, like Stuart Little or The Mouse and the Motorcycle.

When asked how one can tell a psychotic mouse from a normal, sane mouse, project head Dean Sarcanon explained that the sane mice are the ones that don’t have “that crazy look in their eyes.� Additionally, researchers have observed the psychotic mice acting erratically, avoiding social situations, and combing their hair with their testicles.

The mice, which communicate with researchers through a series of small metal levers that correspond to musical tones, repeated their demands for cheese boots Monday, and then spent the rest of the day playing “Hot Cross Buns� on the musical levers.

Researchers hope the mice will eventually soften their demands and settle for more realistic and less difficult to produce items, such as cheese hats, instead.

“Oh yeah, we can make cheese hats,� explained lab technician Arthur Keys. “No problem. I’ve already made a few to show the mice how nice they are.�

Keys demonstrated for the commune a series of fashionable cheese hat prototypes he had created in his spare time, each of which was lovely.

“It’s really pretty simple,� explained Keys. “You take a cheesy cracker, like a Cheez-It or even better, a Ched-Unk, and attach a little wedge of brie on top here with a hot glue gun.�

“The hardest part is making the tiny chin strap,� Keys solemnly intoned, with an entirely straight face. “That’s where I really earn my $17,000 a year.�

As the story has gained national attention, UT researchers have come under pressure to concede to the cheese boot demands, a move that project head Sarcanon believes would be a grave mistake.

“Once you bend over backwards to make these mice cheese boots, then were does it end?� Sarcanon asked, shrugging his shoulders. “You have to remember, these are crazy mice we’re talking about here. What are they going to ask for next? Little biker jackets made out of provolone? A Minnie Mouse blow-up doll? What if they want a tiny piñata party, how do we pull that off?�

According to other researchers on the team, the mice don’t like Sarcanon, and regularly play the notes F-A-G on their musical levers when he enters the room. Although Sarcanon claims to be a good sport about this, he did seem strangely pissy when this reporter joined in on kazoo.

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Help me! Good people, this is not a lark, I'm serious—I've fallen and I can't get up.

I can excuse the snickering and guffaws from the peanut gallery. I, too, have witnessed those B-grade commercials for elderly alarm devices in which pathetic crones are horizontal in embarrassing positions, crying and screaming in weak cinema pathos about their inability to get up. I, too, have lampooned such advertisements—but this is serious! I really can't get up!

Ow… ooo… I think I landed on my keys, too, to make it worse. Yikes, that smarts! This is no longer amusing. At first it held a bit of self-deprecating charm, but now I'm terrified I'll never be able to get up. Help me!

This just isn't funny. I can't even move and nobody's helping me. I wish I had one of those damned alert devices now, I can see the wisdom of one now that I'm in this situation. ARRRRGH! I just moved a little and it really hurts! I'm not doing this for comic effect! I'm in serious agony!

I just stepped into the bathroom to change a light bulb, climbed up on the toilet—without having the foresight to close the lid first—and then my foot slipped right into the mouth of the toilet and I fell backwards with severe impact against the bathtub. Ouch! It hurts even more when I recall the incident, still fresh in my quickly-fading consciousness. I don't even know where the light bulb went… I heard a glassy smash when I hit, but I worry that could've been my own spine. I certainly don't feel much pain below the neck. Surely, if I could feel intense pain I could likewise move, but both seem just fond memories to me now.

I hope my wife comes home soon. She stepped out for more light bulbs, ironically. Maybe I'd find that more amusing if I wasn't broken into pieces with my foot in a toilet, pain gnawing at me like a rat on my nerves.

Christ, almighty, how long does it take that woman to buy light bulbs? Is she making them from scratch?!? And what's with you people? I'm in pain and you sons of bitches are sitting there reading the commune like it holds the meaning of life! I'm just asking for a goddamn ambulance or something! Shit on fire, help me!

Next column I hope to tackle the touchy subject of teenage pregnancy. If I'm not fucking dead by then, which seems like a blissful alternative at this point.

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Dear Reebok:

Do you have to make your shoes so bouncy all the time? I bought my son a pair of your shoes and it wasn't ten minutes after he put them on that he bounced right out the window. If it weren't for the safety nets I had recently installed outside all of our windows, I don't know what would have become of him. Are you proud of yourselves? Do you amuse yourselves with the mental images of small children bouncing out of windows while you're making your shoes? Perhaps some people like your bouncy shoes; I can't claim to speak for everyone. But that's certainly not my kind of shoe.

Sandra Livingstone
Rington, Massachusetts



Dear Sandra:

Though we'd love to respond to your inanities with some sage advice, we're afraid your letter has become somehow misdirected. Please be kind enough to let us know if you ever decide to pull your head out of your ass, because we think the resultant sound might be loud enough to scare off our livestock and we'd appreciate some warning. Thanks.

the commune

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Dear Vietnamese Cat Lovers Society:

I have to admit that your advice was fantastic. The best cat really is a fat, happy cat. Unfortunately, my cat and I will be unable to attend your annual dinner, being as I ate my cat last night. Quite a plump, sunny feline, and without a bitter aftertaste at all! Head and shoulders above any cat I've eaten in the past. Or Pert Plus even, this was a delicious cat. I'd eat this cat again, and recommend it to friends. Even without tartar sauce.

And for the sake of your informed members, let it be noted that it is very difficult to feed a cat evil. I bought my cat some of the most expensive evil they had in the Disney store and he just took one little bite, maybe even just a lick, then threw up on my shoes and went over to take a nap. Granted, he did that with Fancy Feast as well, but I may have been buying the Garlic Evil flavor, I'm not sure.

I tried other methods of feeding him evil, including taping his eyelids open and buckling him into a child's car seat pointed at a television showing reruns of "Small Wonder," but somehow he managed to get out, throw up on my shoes, and then he went over and took a nap. I've heard that other cat owners have had more success with Flintstones Chewable Evil, but I have to admit I ate the whole bottle of those before I even got home from the store. They look like little candies!

In closing, thank you for your show of concern over my cat's well being. I assure you that he was wonderful, if a bit spicy. I am impressed with your organization; perhaps I could be put on your mailing list? I'm always on the lookout for great new recipes.

Ted "Fat & Happy" Wonder
Burnage, NC


Dear Ted:

What, is our address scratched into a park bench or on a bathroom stall somewhere? Christ on a craps table.

the commune

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Dear commune:

Is it for real that Tony Robbins can make my dreams come true? Because if it is, I want a restraining order against that guy. I've been having this gnarly dream about waking up with salmon for hands and I'll be pissed if that really happens. Thanks.

Mike Lundtree
Provo, UT


Dear Mike:

Though we're very happy to see that we were the actual intended recipients of your letter, we can't help but wonder if we'd just be better off writing the letters and responses ourselves. Just a thought. As far as your question is concerned, Tony Robbins really will make your dream come true, but we're sorry to say it's the one about being violated by the '79 Chargers. Thanks for writing.

the commune

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Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible, rich, nor particularly good looking, but still enjoys a handjob from time to time. Is that too much to ask?

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