A story about a man who enjoys killing rats, or…
By Ronald Cypress
A lot of people asked me why I moved into this house after they found out about the rat problem. A lot of people thought I was crazy for dealing with the rats. They just don’t know how much fun it is, killing these rats. I have a confession to make; most of these rats weren’t even here when I moved in. I’ve brought most of them in after I found out how much I enjoyed killing rats. I’m not going to waste too much time talking about how I came to be in the old, dilapidated mansion or how I started with killing rats. Just let me talk about what I really want to talk about, slaughtering these little fuckers.
Now, the first thing I started doing was shooting them. I still do that but not like I used to. The rat problem was the first thing I noticed about this mansion. The abundance of the rats probably would have sent most people off, but I welcomed the challenge of eliminating those fucks. I started off with a Colt .45 and Winchester rifle. For the first few months in my new mansion I just shot the little, lazy buggers. Most of them were just hanging around, taking up space, so shooting them was easy. That got old after a while, so I started doing other things.
I began hanging them, wrapping little strands of rope around their necks and letting them hang in a room I designated as the hanging room. The hanging room would later become the caged room. That room was designed to keep as many rats trapped inside as possible. If you don’t know rats, at least the kind of rats I had in my mansion, you wouldn’t know that rats trapped in an area will turn on each other pretty quickly. There don’t have to be a rhyme or reason. They just get so frustrated, being packed into that tiny room, so they start killing each other. A few may actually manage to escape somehow, and honestly I don’t mind that. May God bless their disgusting little souls, and hopefully they know that there’s always a chance I’ll catch them in the free world and bring them right back for my pleasure.
I kind of got ahead of myself. Before the room where I caged them was built, I used to dismember a lot of them. I had a whole room dedicated to that. I’d cut off a leg. Cut of an ear. Maybe both legs. Rip out and eye. Anything that would leave them crippled but alive. Oh, it was fun watching those little ignorant creatures suffer with their body parts missing. I got blood rushing down my pipe right now just remembering what I did to those no good, space grabbing, food snatching bastards. I worked hard setting my mansion up so that it is now in the excellent condition that it is in now, and those indolent pieces of shit were constantly taking from me.
But sometimes I think it’s worth it, keeping them around so I can kill them. Oh, how I love it. I love it. I love it. I love it. You know what’s really fun. Putting a bunch of hungry rats together in a box or something—maybe an entire room—and throwing a little bit of cheese in the space. If you thought the rats trapped in the room got violent, then you wait till you see what those starving rats do to each other for a little bit of cheese. They pretty much kill and maim each other without any hesitation. A sight of beauty in my eyes. If you were to see it with your own eye, you would probably see them as the little barbaric beasts that they were are. Isn’t a bloody fate exactly what they deserve?
So yeah, I bring in rats now. I thought I could stop once I got rid of the original ones, but I need to kill rats. It’s an addiction. If I were to let you feel some of this power, you’d get addicted too. I love killing rats. It’s what gets the juices out of me.
The biggest drawback is cleaning up the mess. Without a doubt. But you know what, every time I’m cleaning the mess up I always think:
Thank God I’m not one of these rats.