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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Rok Finger is more full of it than anyone you've ever met—if the "it" in question is charity. I've got more charity in my tax documents than most people have in their whole bodies. And when I heard people somewhere were suffering from something, I wanted to do my part. And your part, too, if you weren't already doing it.

That's why I organized the Concert for New Orleans—just me and a few friends you may have heard of. Like John Cougar Mellancamp? Willie Nelson? Hazel Mertz? Electric Eddie Dumpling? Lee? Camembert? And Alec Baldwin? Okay, you may not have heard of all of them—I understand Baldwin was in a movie called Beetle Jews, so I thought I'd give him a break and invite him along.

Basically what it is, my celebrity friends and Alec Baldwin all got together and decided to play songs, read poems, and do all sorts of interesting crap for charity. All the money that we don't sneak into our own pockets goes to help the victims of New Orleans. Apparently it's been giving some people trouble. I'm not sure of all the details, too much reading required, but I wanted to make sure people who were suffering got everything they needed, and the entire world knew it was Rok Finger who organized the damn thing.

I've got the whole thing arranged, and over three of the announced guests have agreed to appear. We start of things very solemn and dignified, before they get fucking nuts with fun. First, a moment of silence for the victims of New Orleans. More than a moment—an hour and a half. Complete silence. Now that's classy. Then, we start into a real melancholy ballad—I'm trying to reunite Soundgarden for that, since I think the grunge music perfectly represents whatever the cause is.

Next we go into a small skit about the dangers of… well, all the details haven't been ironed out yet. Whatever's the danger that's troubling all the people we're trying to benefit. I'm trying to get Ernest Hemingway to write it, but if we can't get him on the phone, I understand Mariel Hemingway's available. If we can't get her, I'll try Anferny Hardaway. And I'll keep trying names that sound the least little bit similar until I get to Camembert, who will probably end up writing it. After all, he's not exactly going to get a place in the chorus line, and he'd better do something to help out with the charity if he wants his name on the marquee. Under Sting, but over Don Cornelius.

Before you get the chance to ask, and cancel your reservation, Lee's band, Up With Prophets, will be performing. I hope you like Christian Rock! Or maybe "like" is too strong a word. I hope you can stomach it for twenty minutes, because that's all they're scheduled to play for. Got to make way for the celebrities who aren't my friends.

Then, a cavalcade of true Hollywood talent the likes of which you've seldom seen. You'll get pure talent up the whazoo until you want to puke. We'll be doing the whole thing right here at the commune offices to save on the expenses, and because Bagel says it's something called "deductible." There will be so much talent in this group, God will look down from heaven and say, "Shit, when did I drop all that talent down there?"

It's high time somebody did something for the New Orleans sufferers—when's the last time you turned on your TV and saw anybody doing anything? Or even seen it mentioned? But that's the kind of guy I am—all charity. And as soon as we get this New Orleans problem taken care of, I'd like to do something about the hungry. Feed them, or failing that, anesthesia.

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Hey, Shorty, you got you another one o' them Moon Pies? No? Well, how 'bout you break me off a piece o' that one, then, huh? That looks like a good 'un... you can tell 'cause the chocolate's kinda turned color, like it's been in the wrapper for a couple months. That's when Moon Pies is best. Just like them marshmallow chicks and bunnies you get for Easter. I like to eat them about July or August or so. That's when they's best.

You know what they oughta make, Shorty? Marshmallow frogs and crawdads, is what. I betcha them'd sell real good. You could buy 'em to eat, or you could use 'em for bait. Yessir, I bet them'd be real popular.

You know, speakin' o' bait, d'I ever tell you about that time Jimmy Wayne and Everett was out fishin', and Jimmy Wayne won the Catfish Contest? That was the damnedest thing I ever did hear, and I heard some pretty weird stuff in my time, Shorty, you know I'm tellin' the truth about that. Ask anybody. Like how just the other night, Jimmy Wayne and Everett was out giggin' frogs, and Everett mistook ol' Jimmy Wayne's bare foot in the water for a frog, and he stabbed his gigger clean through it? You hear about that? Everett says it was a pure-dee accident, and that he ain't to blame anyway, on account o' him only havin' one eye and all. 'Course that don't mean much to ol' Jimmy Wayne at the time, 'cause there he is standin' in three feet o' water with a frog gigger stuck through his foot and blood gushin' out of it and all. Jiminy Christmas, he was mad. He was so mad he was vivid. I guess once they got that gigger out o' his foot, he was hoppin' mad.

But it ain't like he can say much to ol' Everett, after what happened in the Catfish Contest a few years back. You never heard about that, huh? Oh yeah. That's why ol' Everett wears that eyepatch, the one that makes him look like Blackboard the pirate.

See, they was fishin' in Jimmy Wayne's secret spot, but they wasn't havin' much luck. It was the last day o' the contest, and neither one o' them had anything worth throwin' on a scale. They was tryin' every kind o' bait they was; stink bait, chicken livers that sat in the sun too long, mackerel, nightcrawlers, doughballs and corn, everything, and they wasn't havin' much success. Ol' Jimmy Wayne was gettin' pretty frustrated, it bein' his lucky secret spot and all, and he was just about to give it all up and throw his whole rig in the water and go home. He figured he'd give it one more shot, though, and he loaded up his hook with a big ol' chicken liver. Only thing was, that chicken liver had sat too long, and had got kinda runny, so when he flipped his line back, it just went sailin' off his hook. He didn't even notice that, he just whipped his line around and cast it out as far as he could. Well, ol' Everett was sittin' right there, and that hook caught him square in the eyeball. Just ripped his whole eyeball right outta his head, clean as you could pull it out with a pair o' pliers.

Jimmy Wayne still didn't notice what had happened, so he just let that line fly, with ol' Everett's eyeball hangin' off his hook and everything. The line hit the water, and just as fast as a ol' jackrabbit humps his second cousin, the biggest catfish in the river swallows up ol' Everett's eyeball and is hooked but good. Everett stars screamin', on account o' all of a sudden he ain't got but one eye, and there's blood all over his face, and Jimmy Wayne starts screamin' 'cause he's just hooked into the biggest catfish this side o' the one that swallowed Jonah, and so there they was, both standin' there screamin' their fool heads off, with Jimmy Wayne thinkin' that Everett's screamin' about the fish and Everett thinkin' Jimmy Wayne's screamin' about his lost eyeball.

Well, it was a mess, but Jimmy Wayne was able to bring that fish in, and that's how he won the Catfish Contest. He used some o' the money he won to buy Everett that eyepatch, and he threw in a case o' Dixie beer on top of it, just 'cause he felt so bad. They was able to get ol' Everett's eyeball outta the catfish once Jimmy Wayne brought it down to the bait shop and weighed it, but by then it wasn't much good to Everett. Hell, it wasn't much good to the catfish by then, neither. Ol' Jimmy Wayne wanted to take it and use it for bait again, but Everett didn't much appreciate that idea.

That's why we always tell ol' Everett to keep a eye out for a nice catfish. You heard me say that to him before, right Shorty?

You know what they oughta make, Shorty? Marshmallow eyeballs. I bet them'd sell real good down at the bait shop. I betcha Jimmy Wayne'd buy 'em by the dozen.

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