The Official Hog Blog
Monday, January 16, 2006
I have not forgotten you, tho your scent has changed. I miss your unknowable questioning. The train rides are silent and the el does not sound like joy as sun ra has said. We disagree about things that should be the obvious. I want to touch you and I cant even tell you that. Why should it be so different? I have seen your smile, and I know that smirk means more than that you’d like a hug. I’m no fool.
Breakin’ my heart, you are. I’m certain there are other men like me who woo you, hope to even get a returned phone call. You must have many on your dance card. Your slim frame, slinking to the beat, funky music wrapping itself in your moves and the floor shaking around me as my sweaty palms are wiped against my pants. I hope you don’t discount me as a suitor. I could be calm and collective if only I could stop thinking about whether or not I was gonna trip and fall as I talk with you in my clumsiness.
Oh lord you dropped that bomb on me, don’t let em, don’t let em, drop it, drop it, drop it, drop it, be-bop it on me. You done me in, baby, yeah you did.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
I may be a cretin for enjoying this, but when late night snaps occur and I know by morning I'll be disposing of a dead mouse, I get some sick happiness inside. The last three weeks, I've placed mouse traps in every corner of the apartment. Each one with a bit of peanut butter, or incredibly stinky cheese. Each one to entice these little creatures from their cubby holes, trip the trap and die quickly.
As I laid sleeping soundly, the familiar snap of the trap silently echoed through the kitchen.
"Ah ha," I whispered in the night, "tomorrow will be a good day."
Friday, January 06, 2006
There is no perfect trap. There are some great designs that will snap a mouse neck in two without blood, nor excess amounts of mouse hair. I've found, tho, that after a day or so the mice find ways to outsmart just about any trap. Jumping over the trap, or picking at the bait, allowing the peanut butter to be picked at and not eaten aggressively so as to not trip the trap. Somehow, that mouse can outwit a simple machine, a spring, to be exact, and foil my plans to kill it.
I view this mouse as an intruder and will find it dead or go mad seeking it's demise. I've already stayed awake more hours than I wish to count devising new, fiendish methods of mouse murder. A hammer would smash it's tiny brain from even thinking about entering my kitchen. A poison would drop him like a led zeppelin in the summertime. If I, perchance, caught a glimpse of him, I would pounce immediately, grabbing a wooden spoon from the mantle and beat it senseless, until I had nothing but a bloodied mess of what once was a mouse.
With everything that man has created in this world, including the computer, the nuclear bomb, the common electric fan...
with all that we have, there is still a struggle to keep mice away from our refridgerators like some cartoon by Fritz Lang.
