the sweet stench of success

ding dong the rats are dead, the wicked rats, the wicked rats. ding dong the wicked rats are dead.

so they are finally gone. sort of. the poison i put out over a week ago finally did its job and those rat bastards are dead. but you must not forget that these were special rats, hipsterats, and in so being werent lacking in a sense of irony. how could rats have a sense of irony, you ask? well, for one, they are hipsterats and hipsters are always known by their strong sense of irony, whether it be voiced by a sarcastic quip or displayed via heat trasfer on a vintage tshirt. whats ironic is that while alive, the little guys would have vespa club rides in my walls and make all sorts of racket. because of this, (and the little poops they managed to leave everywhere) i wanted them dead. but now that they are dead, they stink. bad. there is one specific corner of my kitchen where death lives. and he has atrocious b.o.

the stench has given me reason to hunch over and into the crawl space below my house to do rat excavation and find the cause of the odor. so far ive been fairly succesful and pulled out 3 of those dead suckers, one of which was totally copping my style, wearing a vintage army surplus jacket, bellbottoms and thrift store threads. he was sportin chucks, too, the poseur. rat #3 was female, and had one of those awful hipster-chick self-cut hair-do’s. you know the ones with the bangs cut straight across so ridiculously high on the forehead? yeah, one of those. i hate that haircut. anyway, the tragedy in #3 wasnt just the poorly coiffed ‘do, but the fact that its offspring was still alive and trying to suckle from a dried out dead teet. awful, i know, but im not making this up.

i warned joey about this post. and its only going to get better.

so far the best has been john paul. i walked in on john paul while he was doing his best weekend at bernies impression in the middle of my kitchen floor. i dont know how long he’d been there, for i had been on spring break for a couple of days. as i gazed upon john paul a mason jar on my counter top caught my eye and a lightbulb went off. the mason jar could serve as a perfect hyperbaric chamber. so i got him to mambo on into the jar, sealed him up, and for the next few days he laid in state for viewing. see below:

a few days after lying in state, a miracle happened (john paul is wasting no time in making a case for sainthood). you see, john paul decided to come back from the grave to deliver a message of love and encouragement. or so i originally thought. as i approached the hyperbaric chamber in anticipation of wise words brought beyond the great divide i was quickly disappointed when he whispered into my ear, “screw you, jared. we were the hippest rats anywhere and you took it all away from us. you shall now pay for thy murderous behavior.”

here is a picture of me receiving what i thought was going to be a miraculous message of encouragement:

while his message wasnt all that prophetic (remember, the stench of death and already begun to pervade my home) it was a harbinger for my current frustration and a miracle, nonetheless. i mean, really, when do rats come back from the grave to deliver vengeful messages? never. thats why its a miracle.

so, in further action to combat the stench ive burned more incense than was burned in all the masses last week over at the vatican for that other john paul (some coincidence, huh?), and now my house is just nasty. oh, and add those smells to the apricot flavored glade plug-in that my neighbor put out in the hall and i got this potpouri of straight up funk. its lovely.

but you know what? i at least got to those hipsterats before they got to my little debbies, and thats all that matters. sing it high, sing it low, ding dong the hipsterats are dead.