Without having read a very old blog entry (Set-up a Bleeping Cheese Trap, Lloydie!) Lloydie has finally set-up a bleeping cheese trap. The callroom was bombarded with ultraviolet rays a few weeks ago in an attempt to kill off some spreading virus, but the UV has obviously caused the rats to mutate. Not in the expected transmorphism into biped rats or cock-a-mouse, but them rats have definitely developed… an attitude. They are now bolder, and they care less about your feelings. They would eat a dropped biscuit in front of you not minding if you cross your arms or tap your foot in annoyance. They would continue nibbling, occasionally taking a glance up to check if someone would step on them, but otherwise they would just not care. Eventually the callroom became theirs, with us staying there out of their kindness. It was high time to revolt, and revolt we did. Lloydie set up an extremely sticky rat trap, and laced it with a bunch of fries to entice the 3 frivolously frolicking fuckers. In a few hours one of them was caught, and we delighted at the sight of him squirming and squirming and crapping from stress. Just two more rats to kill, we thought.
Until I woke up this morning at 3 am and saw, clumped in the trap, twelve—TWELVE!!!—disgusting rats, squirming, clawing at each other, trying to get a bite at the French fries before they die—DIE!!!—from dehydration. "YELP!" I yelped, but after 2 seconds of yelping I marveled at the future carcasses (carcassi?). This was a cause for celebration, and everybody was in a good mood because of that. Until we realized that if there are twelve, then surely there could be… thousands. Willard!