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Flatmates are a peculiar oddity; people eating, sleeping and shitting in close proximity for primarily financial reasons. Sometimes these people are female, which is good because you can have sex with them when they're drunk. Sometimes they're male and that's bad because they hit you with oars when you're drunk. And sometimes, on the most special days of all, when the wind is from the west and the frost lasts till noon, both happen at once.
But either way, there is a bit of give and take involved with harmonious co-existance; you have to accept the foibles and eccentricities of the other person and supress you own. I, however, don't like giving or taking which is why I live alone. Also because I like to shower in the nude with the door open. But it wasn't always like this; until an hour ago, I had to share my house with another. When I arrived here in Goroka, I was told that I would have my house to myself and I thought "Alright! Showertime!" However, I found out that there was someone already living in my house and I would have to share with them. Not only was I not consulted about this, but the other was the most obnoxious form of flatmate: eating my food, leaving crap everywhere and up all bloody night.
I had to get rid of the damn mouse: I live in Papua New Guinea for christ's sake - coming downstairs in the middle of the night, holding Mr Stabby, to investigate a mysterious noise is stressful enough without this damn thing running over your bare foot. And let me tell you, you do not start confrontation with home invaders from a position of strength when you're standing on a chair and screaming like a girl.
I, of course, immediately complained to the proper authorities, but the Masons wouldn't do a bloody thing about it. Then I asked the Police for a gun and help disposing of a body. They said sure then asked me who it was I wanted killed. When I told them, they were really mean and told me to stop wasting their time and come back when I had someone proper to kill. When I asked what I should do in the mean time, I was told "Buy a fucking trap, whiteman."
Since Mother taught me to always obey Police Officers, I went around the shops in town asking for a fucking trap. My pidgin wasn't particularly good at the time, so I pantomimed by thrusting my hips back and forth, then slamming my hand down like a trap closing. This netted me two slaps, one black eye, the phone number of a large, friendly chap and one being-chased-down-the-street-by-machette-weilding-mob.
Obviously, no one was going to help me out here, so I needed to look further afield for support and help. Firing up the old internet, I asked Mrs Jazzyjay back in Australia.
> You have begun a conversation with KutsieWuffles.
<SnatchSpoiler3000> supnigga
<KutsieWuffles> Luvmuffies, which do you think is cuter, a kitty in jimmyjams or a monkey going poos in a toilet like it's a people?
<SnatchSpoiler3000> what
<KutsieWuffles> I think it's a kitty going poos in a toilet while wearing jimmyjams with the bottom flap open. ^_^!
<SnatchSpoiler3000> how do i kill mouse?
<KutsieWuffles> Don't kill the little mousie, you mean man!
<SnatchSpoiler3000> what
<KutsieWuffles> Jazzy Rutager Jay, if you kill Squishface you'll never get snooky ever again!
<SnatchSpoiler3000> fuck ?
So there was my problem: But how did I get rid of the mouse without losing my beloved snooky? This question vexed me for a while, then it came to me, in the form of an email from Mrs Jazzyjay.
To: My ScrummyWummy! <schlongmeister8@datec.net.pg>
For the last time, stop complaining about that mouse. It is not 'building a better death ray to steal my manly juices.' It just wants to LOVE you! But if you really have to get rid of it, why don't you build a mousetrap that doesn't kill it, just catches it. Then you can take it out to a nice farm and let him go where he can have fun visiting all his field mouse cousins! And he can impress them with his big city ways but also learn the enjoyment of slowing down and appreciating nature. OOH! And he can wear little overalls and chew a tiny piece of straw. SOOOO CUTE!
Brilliant! That mouse was building devices to destroy my life - why didn't I return the favour? I immediately flew to the drawing board and came up with some cunning plans. As everyone knows, mice like rooting. Or maybe that's rabbits. I didn't have time to find out so I did what I always did: assumed I was right and went on regardless. So, based on this assumption, I came up with the following design:
Attracted by the spruiking of the large bouncer outside, as well as the flashing neon XXX, the mouse makes his way into the foyer of the brothel, where he is entertained by a selection of beauties, who ply him with flattery and alcohol. Once he has selected the one he likes, he makes his way upstairs where they go to bed. BUT A-HA! Then the trap is sprung - the bed is spring loaded and flies upright, catapulting the mouse into a comfortable holding cell, with cable TV, where he can reside watching the History Channel until I release him into the local cheese factory! There - a cruelty free solution that would ensure I need not risk losing snooky.
But I got as far as talking to the local mouse pimps, who's ho's were a vital part of this plan. And let me tell you: you don't want to deal with the Papua New Guinean rodent
prostitution rackets. They're MEAN! So obviously another plan was called for. I decided that some advice was required when dealing with my nemesis, so I turned to people who deal with nemesises... esis... ses all the time: superheroes. Or rather, the world of comics. Surely they could help me. A quick google search later on comics that contained mice and I came up with the following design:
Yeah, sorry for that.
Then I took a break to work on plans for an entirely unrelated caper.
Anyway, I spent many late nights and early mornings scribbling and scratching and finally came up with the final plan - one that was so diabolically clever that it was FOOLPROOF.
Attracted by the large sign advertising FREE INTERNET (because who can resist free internet? Only the Chinese Government and I had checked the mouse's room while he was out scoring a fiddy and couldn't find a single copy of Mao's Little Red Book), he makes his way inside where he finds the most cheese like object I could find - the yellow bit from a game of Trivial Pursuit. But A-HA! The yellow thing is attached to some complicated wire business and a door closes or something and the mouse is trapped. And so I couldn't be accused of being cruel to the little mouse (and therefor losing snooky), I included a little armchair, velvet dressing gown, tiny little gramophone and a little itsy-bitsy pitcher of martinis, so he could reside in style until I was able to release him.
It was several months later by this point, so my shopping trip to the local hardware store was slightly less controversial that my last visit and I was able to get the supplies I needed.
So, after all that, it was a stalemate. The mouse kept shitting everywhere and stealing food and I couldn't be bothered to do anything about it. Well, that's not true. I finally had a reason to clean up every day. Look, I wear singlets and thongs most days and in my spare time I drink beer. I'm not a tidy person, cause really, I can't be bothered. But at least this gave me a reason to put the plates away when they were washed and not to leave food sitting around. So, I guess, in a way, we both have learned something here today. And that's what the Australian Volunteers International program is all about.
And so it went - until today. For today, I went into the kitchen and there he was. Sitting on the sink, in the corner, behind a bowl. TRAPPED. He couldn't break cover as I was standing there, but I knew if I tried to catch him, he would bolt and probably get away cause, you know, he's a mouse and fuckin small and fast. He could get out from behind the bowl by running along one wall or the other but each time he tried it, I snapped my fingers in front of him and he ran back into his hidey spot. Actually, this was pretty fun, so I kept at it for a while, snapping my fingers every time he tried to bolt, making him run back behind the bowl, me laughing and giggling the whole time. It was awesome!
After twelve or twenty three minutes of this, I got bored and the mouse was starting to get wise and just waiting for me to wander off or get distracted by a butterfly. So I slapped down on the bowl's edge, which flipped it upside down and onto the mouse, trapping him. I then slid a plate under the bowl and triumphantly held it up, shouting at the mouse inside the bowl "Who's crapping in who's rice pudding now!? No more treats in the cornflakes for me!!!" Then I stopped, as the sight of a grown white man shouting at a bowl confused the Papuan children outside and made them cry. So I happily skipped across the yard to the wood pile and
So can I have some snooky now, baby?
My ex-flatmate
Subj: RE: that mouse is trying to kill me 4 reel
I immediately set to work building my trap. However, like I do with all my projects, I got bored with it half way through and went off to eat some grass. Building mousetraps is so 2004, man. Right now, I'm totally gettin into masturbation but will probably be bored with it within the fortnight. You might find my short attention span amusing, but keep in mind that's the only reason I haven't finished my Weapon of Mass Destruction and blown up the world. And then where would you live, funny man?
flung the mini-rat over the fence gave him a hug goodbye, a hobo-pack on a stick, a tin of beans and pocketful of dreams and set the little fella on his way. And to celebrate, I went around the house, leaving half eaten bowls of food everywhere, secure in the knowledge that the only vermin-borne bacteria I needed to fear was that spread by flies, insects, Irishmen and possibly rats.