WHO NEEDS SLEEP: MICE VS. MAN (WITH DOGS OFFICIATING)

Really, what good is a dog if it can fulfill the simplest of tasks required of him for occupation of a residence? I mean, I got a dog for companionship, sure. Absolutely. But sometimes, dogs gotta pull their weight around the house. F'real. I work my ass off to keep these guys healthy, fed, exercised. They act like they're due it.

I get a call from my lovely wife yesterday asking if we can order pizza for dinner. It's not common that we do, especially on a weeknight. I ask, "Why?" She says because she's hungry, tired and there's a mouse in the kitchen. Security breached.

I run to the store to pick up a six pack for the ball game and half-priced "mouse glue boards." Not sure if you all have ever seen these so let me school you on the concept. Basically, it's a disposable board about the size of a large note card. You peel off one side and expose a super-sticky surface where you place a small piece of food to "increase the effectiveness." Then you put it in an area where you have seen a mouse or droppings. Buying this thing was like buying triple-X porn (not that I really know). I felt like, "Yeah, I'm stupid white trash and I have a mouse in my trailer and there's only room for one of us!" I prepared a few quick comebacks in case the person ringing me up said something like, "Mice, huh?" The first was, "Yeah, it's for my storage shed," or "I'm pulling a prank on my roommate." No one asked. I bought the goods and was on my way.

When I get home, my lovely wife is in the study and has no plans of going near the kitchen. I go straight to the kitchen and begin opening the glue boards--keeping a watchful eye on the corners for my furry friend. I put one on the floor and one on the counter top where he was spotted. We're taking the power back here. Roaches and rodents are unacceptable in our household. I pulled Tux and Jax aside and reminded them of this. It's inexcuseable that two hounds can spend all day inside and outside, but restricted to the kitchen and not notice that security had been breached. After scolding them, I block off the kitchen and let the glue boards do their magic.

I walk into the kitchen about an hour later and BOOM there he is! Dashing across the counter. I freak out, yelling, "There he is! There he is! I'm-a get you, you stupid bastard!" The dogs look on to see how you take charge of a situation. He disappears behind the fridge and I carefully and studiously reposition the glue boards.

Now, the idea of these stupid things are, essentially, the prick will walk onto the board, stick and struggle until eventually he dies. There's no estimate on how long that will take, but there's no poison or chemical which slows him down to his death so, as far as I know, it's a waiting game once he lands on it.

The evening crawls on as I watch the Sox. I check back periodically, but nothing. Despite their neglect, we decide to pull the dogs into the bedroom for the night because I had feared that the dumbass mouse would step on the glue board, struggle and fall off the counter into the mouths of two now eager beagles.

The Sox game went late--14 innings to be exact. Afterwards, I drift off quickly into slumber, but it would be short-lived. I wake up at 2:30 to my lovely wife's horrendous snoring. It was so loud that the dogs were stirring about the bedroom. Sorry, babe. I shove her a little to see if I can shift her to a position less-snoreful. Hey, y'boy's gotta sleep too. About 3:00, Jax begins whining. Usually, this is a cry for water. He can hold pee for 17 hours, but the second he gets thirsty, dude's like a three-alarm fire. I try to ignore him because, well, to be honest, I don't wanna go to the kitchen.

But as I'm reminded of constantly, it's the man's job. Hosed. I try to pass it off on the dogs, you know, delegate it, but my lovely wife's right. It's my job. Okay, so I'll take Jax to the kitchen to get water. Tux, because he has no brain other than Jackson's, follows closely. I turn on the kitchen light and there he is...

STUCK TO THE PAD.

And wiggling about. Obviously in distress. So what next? I check the package to see if they offer any counsel. It reads, "After use, dispose of properly." Yeah, well...okay. So when do I know I've reached the "after use" stage. I mean, if the things still alive, wiggling and twitching, is the pad still in use? I stand there at 3:00 in the morning on the opposite side of the kitchen watching this thing struggle and emitting an occasional squeek. What in the hell am I doing? I should be sleeping.

I have to admit that I took great pleasure in watching him on that pad. It's probably not the most humane way of putting a mouse out, but I don't care. I stood there thinking that if someone would actually touch the mouse for me, you know, pick it up. I'd let them pitch it to me so I could take a hack at it and see how far I could hit it. I was paralyzed. I really hate mice.

I stood there for about five minutes just waiting for it to die. Again, sleep would be nice. I decide I'll go back to sleep. I grab the dogs and we head back to the bedroom where my lovely wife continues to buzzsaw through concrete. I turn on the TV, leaving the closed captioning on and muting the sound. I found that her snores were not only distractive to sleep, but I couldn't even read the captions it was so loud. I sit there trying to read captions on the TV, but I can't because my lovely wife's snoring is too distractive and I'm thinking when the mouse in the kitchen will die. This is what I do in the middle of the night. At 4:00, I decide that, to hell with it, I'm up and I'm gonna go get me a mouse.

I devise a plan because I'm an old scout. It involved a broom stick, a rolled piece of cardboard and a garbage bag. It took me about fifteen minutes to get up the nerve to approach it and, once I did, it took about five seconds to execute. I walked him out to the dumpster and let him spend the rest of his miserable death out there.

My lovely wife and I really do run a tight ship. I'm not sure how this breach happened, but trust me in this, it will be resolved. This is no pig stye.

I just heard a soundbyte from a guy in Texas saying he was going to stay at his house while Ike makes landfall saying, "These posts here are buried in four feet of concrete," and then smiling, "I don't think they're going nowhere." Man, those sound like famous last words.

Hip hop heads, I got a killa package from Mr. Matt at EMI with three CDs--all which were noteworthy: the new People Under the Stairs (a band you can trust) called Fun DMC, the new Madlib mix through BBE and then the Mighty Underdogs record starring Gift of Gab, Lateef and Headnodic from the Crown City Rockers (dope, dope). The record features, among others, a reclused MF Doom and DJ Shadow. A notable recording after one listen.

Roundhouse plays one tonight. Already tired of this election. Palin's accent is mad annoying.