I woke up to the sight of
two giant ugly rats in the kitchen today. Actually, I woke up to sound of them
scampering about in the kitchen. The dirt bags were all over the place, the
kitchen stank of rat poop, there were ketchup and gravy stains on the walls. If
I were a war soldier, I would have described this morning, as a colossal
disaster. A ruthless enemy invasion. A contingency situation, which calls for a
national rescue operation.
Anyway, it took me twenty
minutes to pick my more urgent fears. It was a choice between an enemy
cross-fire which would involve a broom stick, high-pitched screams and a tom
and jerryisque chase and cutting a sorry figure in front of a Modi-isque boss
for turning up late for the 10,000th time. Unlike the ordeal I was
to face, the choice was easy to make. I decided to give a rat’s ass about the
former and headed straight to the kitchen.
What I did next, can be best
described as Lord Tyrion’s militant strategy to combat assailants. I got up and
sourced two granula sized bars form the local pharmacy. The bar goes by the
name of D-con. I immediately felt assured by the ‘rats eat at home, die outside’
promise, it carries on the wrapper.
I came back home and
generously dropped my granula-looking arsenal everywhere on in my kitchen. Hoping, this shall go down as a breakthrough in the
history of all vile executions.
Come on boys, dinner is
served.
