My neighborhood is overflowing with rats. Rats as far as the eye can see. Rats up to my eyeballs. Deplorable.
Recently, I’ve been drafted by my wife to kill these bastards who are guilty of nothing besides being born the wrong animal. They haven’t invaded our home. Our garbage is covered. Neither of the kids have been swept up into the violent world of #ratculture. Apparently though, these guys got to go. They are a big problem.
So I built this ingenious device that some real time American hero manly dude built on YouTube:
Turns out though, that trap works like shit. Apparently, that guy is dealing with some dumb ass country bumpkin rats and not smart city rats like I got. The only thing I got was my peanut butter licked clean by squirrels. I tried raw bacon too, but that didn’t work either.
So then my wife talks to a vermin catcher at our local park and he tells us we need to go old fashion snap traps on these things. I Amazoned the most primitive, medieval nasty looking rat killing device I could find.
This feckin’ beast:
These bad boys were expensive. $13.99 for a 4 pack! I figured, “no big deal. They’re reusable…..”
Feck’ that noise! Have you ever seen a dead rat embedded into a metal trap in your backyard? Shit is horrifying. #Nightmarejuice type stuff. I’d post a picture, but I didn’t take one because I’m not some type of psycho path who snaps photos of my rat kills on the internet.
Turns out though, rat killing was absolutely nothing in terms of challenging my man skills. I was stirred from my bed yesterday morning by my wife telling me frantically that a bird got trapped in our rat killing device. She wanted me to rescue it.
I go out back and sure enough, there is a bird on it’s last legs just suffering with a broken leg stuck in the trap, and for some reason, missing an eyeball. (…I have no idea how that happened. I think it might be unrelated to the trap. #denial #tangent)
So saving this guy is out of the question, and I’m pretty certain animal rescue just sends a guy to your house to point at your penis and snicker at you if you call them about a problem such as this. Only reasonable (and frankly humane) thing to do is to grab a shovel and smash the bird into next Tuesday.
Feathers everywhere. Repressed memories that will resurface in my dreams for years to come being born right there in my backyard. Awful.
At least it lead to this fun exchange with my BFF though:
