Fuck the Terrorists, it is the Horrorists I am worried about.
It was a grisly scene (stock photo at left, not my actual under-sink). Complete with blood splatters and whatever those marks are called....you know: the ones where an animal, blood spilling from its mouth and nose, thrashes around and smears said liquid all over the ground.
All the traps were snapped, but had not caught him in any way. I expect it was a rather macabre slapstick routine.
Oh, and a pool too. Not the turtle variety.
Loaded him into the thin white plastic coffin, printed with his death-name: Pharmaprix.
I thought to myself: "I've done all kinds of things in the name of my own biography. They're all bullshit" You feel the difference between one rat and an unspecified quantity somewhere near your clinched asshole.
He....no, one of them did bite me on the face last summer.