THIS IS A CACHED COPY OF SOMEONE ELSES WEBPAGE!!!!!!!!
Harvey the mouse has to go!
Hey everyone, check out some of the wonderful feedback I've received. Thanks to everyone who supports me.
Have no doubt people. I am at war. I didn't want it, but these mice have invaded my homeland. I sleep here, and I eat here, and I someday hope to entertain girls here. The mice have to go, dead or alive.
So there is no confusion, this is a war. There will be casualties. Emotion plays no role in this. I know the enemy, and it is mouse.
For the Kitchen:
And for under the toilet:
It really cheeses me off when they try to get into my tea.
Jan 8, 2002. 8:30PM MST
I bagged my first mouse tonight. It was a baby. I heard the snap and ran into the bathroom to see what I had caught. It was still twitching, but it was cute. It looked so cute, and I felt so bad. I didn't want to do it. Why did the little guy make me do it?
The first casualty of war is innocence.
The Killing MUST stop. That took a lot out of me emotionally. My goal is peace. Then I thought, 'What would an Army person do?'.
If it's good enough for the war on Terror, it's good enough for my apartment.
Jan 9, 2002. 10:45AM MST
I had an early morning meeting. When I got home, I found a second mouse solider dead, face down in the bathroom. Another young mouse who gave up his life for a bad cause. The leaflet didn't seem to work.
I'm beginning to become immune to the carnage. War does funny things to mice and men.
Meanwhile, the cheese trap on the top of my microwave (the one with the sign that says 'super mouse cheese') has been raided. There it sat, still set, with the bait gone. I know who stole it; Harvey. Only the ringleader, the mother of untold legions of bastard mouse soldiers, would do such a thing. Well, the jokes on her. That was not super mouse cheese, it was just regular cheddar, and will give her no help.
The cheese is too easy to steal. I replaced it with peanut butter, and a new, more stern warning. I hope they stop before the body count gets too high.
January 9. 2002. 8:58PM MST
2 Dead, 4 taken prisoner.
Since starting this, I've received two main objections from others.
1. I'm insane.
I assure you I am not insane. I don't take any sick
pleasure from this. My stomach turns and I feel awful every time another mouse
dies. But at the same time, What else am I supposed to do? Let the mice continue
to breed, chew on my wires and take doodoos in my house?
2. I'm an 'awful, awful man'.
The best way I can deal with this is to say
'I don't feel good about killing these mice'. I really don't. I'm at war, war
against an enemy with unknown numbers, and whose whereabouts are a mystery. They
hide in tunnels all over my apartment that I can never hope to discover. I don't
hate the enemy, but they threaten my way of life, and while it's not pretty, it
must be done.
Sounds kind of like another war we are fighting. So once again I looked to the U.S. military, who's been at this far longer then I have. I read on the Internet that lots of the terrorists are being held prisoner in Cuba, which gave me a good idea:
I also read on the Internet that mice are not indigenous to North America; they were carried over on ships from Europe, which means they might not speak English. It could be that's why they didn't get my earlier warnings. Now I'll translate the best I can.
I think this is far more humane. Don't you?
January 10th, 2002. 10:22AM MST.
Dead: 2, Mostly dead Prisoners: 5.
I've been receiving literally dozens of letters of support. Thanks to everyone. When time permits I'll try to respond the best I can.
I think this is a war I can win. Only one mouse got trapped over night and is in the POW camp. They don't look happy at all. I took a course from the American Red Cross back in college about the Geneva convention and the proper treatment of POWs. I don't remember much of it, but if a Red Cross truck shows up at my house with supplies and letters from home, or wants to inspect the conditions of the camps, I'll be a gracious host.
NEWSFLASH: Mice strike back, 1 human wounded.
Jan 10, 2002. 11:40AM
MST
The mice got me. I'm not dead, but I'm injured. The mice seem to be able to snag a bit of peanut butter from the traps without setting it off. I can never underestimate the cleverness of these beasts.
So while resetting a trap, I cut my thumb on one of the many jagged metal edges. I was horrified. This was a trap I was reusing after catching a mouse. Who knows what diseases and filth were lingering around that trap. Then one thought hit me and I freaked: Anthrax. I rushed to my medicine cabinet for some first aid.
Note the generic
Neosporin has 3 types of antibiotics. One of them has to be the kind that kills
Anthrax.
Ok, now that I'm patched up, I realize it's pretty unlikely that mice would have access to Anthrax (but the way things have been going, it wouldn't surprise me). I do know they carry all sorts of nasty diseases, however, and a little preventative medical treatment for the wounded is probably a safe bet.
Jan 10, 2002. 5:01PM MST
Dead Mice: 7.
Ok, those POW camps just weren't working out. There's something very disturbing about looking down at 4 squirming, squeaking mice every time you go to use the bathroom. So the POW camps became death camps. I felt bad, but there wasn't much I could do.
I made sure to give them a proper funeral, and said a little prayer. I don't know what God mice believe in, or if they are promised immediate entrance into mice paradise if they die while trying to steal food of nibble on electrical wires, but I hope the best for them.
Audios, muchachos.
The only sad thing is, when I sent them to their grave (a city trash bin), they still had some fight left in them. A neighbor looked at me funny as I threw away a sack that seemed to be alive and had high pitched squeaks coming out if it. They started walking away very quickly after I took a photo of the inside of the garbage can. I guess if I didn't know the context, that would worry me a bit too.
Even worse, almost immediatly after performing the funeral service, dark clouds rolled in and it began to rain. I feel very depressed right now.
So this is what it
sounds like when mice cry
There have been no real developments since my last update. Like the real news, I guess when things get slow, it's good to find out a little 'behind the scenes' news of the war effort.
Munitions against mice don't just grow on trees: You have to find a place that specializes in that sort of arms. Luckily, there's a place nearby where instruments of death are available 24 hours a day.
You have to love
America.
The munitions store has everything a military supply officer could want. Just check this out:
They don't even try to hide the fact that these are for war. Products called 'Combat', 'Raid', 'Hot Shot' or 'Def Con'. And on another aisle, they have greeting cards for sale, in case it's your mothers birthday.
Finally, I've changed my attidude. A good freind of mine e-mailed these words of wisdom:
One thing that disturbed me, however: you stated that you THOUGHT you could win this war. One of Colin Powel's fundamentals of was is that you only enter a war you KNOW you can win.
He's right. I WILL win this war. I just have to.