An icon of the Lord Mouse King riding in gallantly on his noble steed, the overburdened german cockroach.
Amongst the things keeping me from sleeping like a normal human being have been an army of mice slowly scratching and slithering their ways through the pastel painted basement apartment walls. We've successfully trapped and taken two mice out of the apartment, but we keep spotting more. Perhaps the original two have made their way back, as apparently mice tend to do, like little disease carrying puppies, or perhaps the fresh wall debris on the bathroom floor underneath a new, messily gnawed hole indicates a new portal for new unwanted friends. Or, just perhaps, my roommate is a Mouse King- a mythical person that is to mice what a queen ant is to its colony, permanently pregnant and dropping loiters of squishy pink vermin unknowingly as he sleeps. For whatever reason, I've taken to the latter theory. LONG LIVE MOUSE KING!
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