Every night I hear a large *thump* above my room. Sometimes it can shake the ceiling and I can feel the reverberation throughout the room. Finally, I said enough is enough and sprinted upstairs right after I heard it happen.
No one was upstairs (except Gus). Olmstead wasn't there, and his room is right above mine. Until now, I had imagined he was dropping a bowling ball on his floor for some physics experiment. Gus was no help, telling me that the noise was probably "the seven prostitutes he'd just kicked out of his room."
That leaves only one solution. The mouse population had grown so large and complacent due to the abundance of leftover pizza and beer, and until recent environmental aberrations which were not under their control (Drew's clean-up of the 3rd floor), had lived an almost paradisiacal life in which the gods were benevolent, so that, after the leftover food's removal and without an agricultural infrastructure to reproduce its own, the mice fell into anarchy. Now, small factions of Monstro mice have promised a significant role to outside militant mouse communities in the future government's business for weapons of war. THAT is what I'm hearing every night, 1/2 ouncer mice mortars.
Will history teach these hungry mice nothing? Have the spoils of war ever been anything but death and strife?
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