This blog explores the breadth and depth of just how truly horrible I am at being an adult.


Friday, June 4, 2010

I Hunt the Most Dangerous Game.

First, I want to thank all of you for making it out to my private island here far off the coast of California. I trust that your trip out here on my luxury yacht was most comfortable.

I have called you all here because, like me, you are all very wealthy and, also like me, you are all master hunters.

Look at the walls of my well-appointed study. You will see the mounted heads of animals from every continent. I trust that your own walls in your own mansions look much like mine.

And you have all assured me you were willing to plum the depths of the human soul, willing to test the bounds of the human spirit, in order to hunt a beast you never before have.

I am glad you've said yes, but I must warn you further, gentlemen. Once you have pursued this animal and captured him, you will never be the same again. For tonight, we hunt the most dangerous game... the mouse!

Yes, that's right. Mice.

No, not ravenous vampire mice.

They're not overgrown mutants, no. They're about... average-sized, I guess.

Yeah, just regular old mice. This mansion is overrun by them.

No, they're not rabid or anything. Literally just your regular old field mouse.

Any other questions?

What are you talking about? Of course the field mouse is a dangerous. He is the most dangerous game. I just told you that. Were you even listening? There are literally dozens of them living beneath my front porch and they run into my pantry and... Oh, God, it's awful! Anyway, we better get started killing them. Before they kill us!

Now, underneath each of your seats I have placed twenty-five of what I have called “mice destroyers.” Take a look.

Mouse trap? What do you mean it looks like a mouse trap? I've never heard of such a thing as a “mouse trap.” I created this contraption myself to lure in and destroy these creatures. These diabolical creatures. I assure you it is nothing so simple as a so-called “mouse trap.”

Okay, so here's what you do. Take a little bit of cheese. Or peanut butter. I think peanut butter works too. Then you put it on your “mice destroyer” and then press back the little bar until the spring clicks. Then, and this gentlemen is where you must be very careful, you set these “mice destroyers” underneath my porch and in the pantry. To stop them before they get to us!

But beware, gentlemen, beware! I'm kind of running out of cheese and peanut butter, so only use what you think is sufficient. Sufficient to master and destroy this cunning beast!

What? How dare you impugn my honesty by claiming that I lured you out to my mansion just to take care of a minor mouse infestation. I assure you that I am doing no such thing. I thought master hunters such as yourselves would be a little more open-minded. In fact, I'm kind of disappointed in all of you. How many of you have a field mouse mounted on your walls? Their sharp claws, their menacing teeth!

No one. Just like I thought. Just like I thought.

Now, we must make haste! I have a dinner party tomorrow night and I really want to kill all these little bastards before hors d'oeuvre begin.

No, this has nothing to do with the fact it's impossible to get a decent exterminator out to one's private island. I wouldn't even know. I haven't even called one. Pinky swear.

A cat? You think an everyday housecat could kill all these vile, vicious mice? I've never thought of that. Not a bad idea, actually. Any of you have a cat on you?

No, I need a live one. Well, if I had known that a cat would've done the trick, I wouldn't have stuffed and mounted all twelve of mine. Like assholes always say, hindsight is 20/20, isn't it?

Wait. Shh. Shh! Do you hear that noise? That scurrying beneath the floorboards. Oh, no! The mice! They've found us. The horror!

Everyone remain calm. Remain silent and do not move. If we don't move, they can't see us.

That's right, dinosaurs can only detect moving objects.

Yes. Dinosaurs. What have I been saying? Mice? Ha. I must have seemed pretty silly calling mice the most dangerous game. I'm always confusing mice with dinosaurs. Allow me to clarify. I have a dinosaur infestation. What a brain fart. Sorry!

Okay. To recap. There are dozens of velociraptors, not mice, living beneath my front porch and apparently now beneath the floorboards here in my luxurious study.

Hm. No, I was not aware that velociraptors were the one kind of dinosaur actually capable of detecting still objects. Great. Awesome.

Okay, who's ready to lay some mouse traps?


  1. Not gonna lie, that was pretty damn funny.

  2. The meeting of English nerd-dom and humor.... The horror! Soo great. Sorry it took me so long to get to it.

  3. Great story guy! I was smirking all the way through then definitely lol'd at the end there. Hilarious, great writing