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Monday, August 19, 2002

Tim Schafer Tim

Mouse update: I thought they were all gone, but programmer Wilson Hom spotted one the other day, peeking out of Dave’s trash can. The cocky little mouse was doing that thing where he’s flipping you off, but he’s holding his hand below the trash can lip so you can’t see it, but you can tell he’s doing it because of the way he’s holding his arm, and the smile on his little face. You know, like mice do? Ahhhh! I hate them.

Trap deployment efforts are redoubled.

But none of these, of course, will affect the big, KISS-boot wearing rat that lives in the ceiling above my desk. Gene Simmons, the God of Thunder—he never comes down. He will scamper forever. And if he tripped one of our little mouse traps he would just stick out that long tongue of his and laugh and laugh.

Our friend Chris actually mailed in a king-sized rat trap that I think would do the trick. But I’d have to cut a hole in the ceiling to get the trap up into Gene’s house. And to do that I’d have to stick my head in the hole at some point, and what if when I’m doing that I turn on my little coal miner’s headlamp and I see a million rats coming at my face, just like Bill Paxton saw in Aliens, and what if I still wore head gear like I did in junior high? And what if my head gear got caught on the wiring up there and I couldn’t pull my head out of the hole? And what if the rats kept bearing down on me while I was screaming and screaming, and then they jump on my face and start eating my cheeks and my eyes, and what if everybody from the office heard me screaming and they came running up and tried to pull me down, but my head gear is stuck and the rats keep eating my face until they eat so far through my neck that it just gives way when everyone pulls on my legs, and my head pops off and my bloody body falls down and the rats carry my head off and lay eggs in it and roll it around and what if the team keeps working on the game even though I’m dead, but some times when they work late there will be a little drop of blood on their desk and they’ll look up and see that the rats have eaten a little peep hole in the ceiling and have pushed my decomposed head through to make it look like I’m spying on everyone from above and the rats snicker and imitate my voice and make my head say, “Ok, everybody get to work!” and what if one of the team looks at the rest of them and says, “Well, no big change there!” And everybody laughs? What then?

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