A Ball with a Head and a Tail

In the café, behind me, they are on a date.  He is a modern gun smith, she is a professor who wants to get her Ph.D.

"Tell me more about guns," she says.

So he says, "Some guns are so old, the way in which they were made left for discrepancies in the metalwork.  Some parts of the gun are harder than others.  I want to drill a hole in the gun, but this one part is so hard, it's like rock, you can't drill through it.  So what do you do?  You heat up a nail until it glows, and you put that on the hard part of the gun.  The heat will make it soft, and you can drill your hole into it.  WHO WOULD HAVE KNOWN!!!!  And that's just one example of how much I learn everyday.  Make sure you know, it's a learning CLIFF, not a learning CURVE!!!!!!!!..."

He goes on to talk about guns.  He's got so much to say.  She loves hearing about all that gun talk.  She has heard this "Hard part of the gun" story so many times.  Each time she hears it her eyes glaze over and a small smile plays upon her lips.  She imagines that instead of a gun he's talking about, he's actually talking about his whanger.  She would like to nail is whanger to a tree stump, so that if he ever wanted to leave, he would have to leave without his whanger.  And since he would no longer have a whanger, what use could his balls provide?  So cuts those off with large sewing scissors.  He is in an incredible amount of pain of course, there nailed to the stump. 

She screams, "How do you like it!!??  How do you like bleeding like that!?  And where are your balls now?!"  And she shows him his balls in her hand.  He can barely see them through teary eyes.  Her face is twisted up in rage.  "Here are your balls!!" And she throws them out into the field. 

SIMILARLY, I heard the pattering of a mouse in the ceiling last night, and then on my floor.  It's so cold here, the communist landlords put the heat on full bore.  That's how cold  it is.  And the mice get hot in the rafters, and need to "wet their whistle".  So they sceddadle down the walls, and onto my bed.  I pretend I can't hear them.  They look at me with fidgety hands and shifty, black beady eyes.  But whatever they're thinking, they decide to move on.  It's too hot for a romp, I guess.

And in the morning, there it is, in the bathtub, just chillaxin' in it's own little mouse turds.  It can't get out of the tub, the sides are too sleek and steep.  But how did it get in?  I will not think about it too much.  It means there are mouse turds everywhere.  So I get a large Tupperware container and trap it.  Slide a paper underneath, and flip it, put the lid on.  The mouse is like a ball with a nose and tail attached.  Just like a ball, I think.  And suddenly, a rage overcomes me.  Thoughts of maybe keeping it for a pet "go out the window" and I am blinded by rage. 

"A mouse in the bathtub!"  I shout.  "We'll see who's a mouse in a bathtub after this!!!" 

So I put on my shoes, and jacket, and stomp outside. 

"We'll see who's mousy after this! Mousey!!"  I shout.  There isn't much traffic outside, and it's too cold to heed the crazy.  I cross the street to the local park, pop the lid, and launch the mouse way into the air, and it's little legs and feet are thrashing through the air.  It lands in the snow.  It must be -40 out.  I thought it would die, but it can run on snow.  It falls in foot tracks, but is otherwise persistant in it's longing to live.  It will find a warm car engine, and huddle in that until it chews it's way through some rubber, and destroys your car.