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Saturday, September 24, 2005

 

Passing the Torch

Contorted from eight hours in a Volga and reeking of assfat, I arrived home from my forced march across the regions last night. All I wanted was a little cherry juice spiked with Moscowskaya.

I opened the front door to find a dead rat lying in the hall.

Too some degree, I was relieved. I knew the City Rat Master had been by earlier that day to strategically lay some Rat Smack. A rat carcass was better than dog carcasses.

I was also relieved to see that, while it was a rat of considerable girth, it wasn't as big as I expected.

However, I was deeply disturbed at the prospect at removing it. The Producer acted all brave over the phone, insisting that if I would only stop wailing and wait 15 minutes, he'd be home to deal with it.

Fat chance.

I summoned the courtyard kids and one of the braver ones disposed of it. Thus, I am forced to rescind the title of Rat Master,

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