A good listen.
Friday nights can be exciting at the THE Joe Moran Studios in Long Beach, CA. The call center was receiving an unusually high amount of inbounds. The phones were ringing off the hook, not to mention the writer’s room was a party atmosphere. All sorts of people wanted updates on current projects, to vent and scream at me, laugh with me, and to mostly hear the sweet and sexy sound of my voice. (Lately I’ve been applying a deeper baritone delivery. I’m going for a Barry White vibe. But I digress.) At one point the calls ceased and I had some down time.
I decided to to take the edge off a little. It was a long day and by the time I finished my last call I wanted to jump out of my skin. I noticed something out the corner of my eye while setting the mood with some incense cones, a little Chanting music, and a few chocolate chip cookies. I turned my head fast enough to see a pretty big, four legged varmint make a B line for the studio’s bathroom. He shut the door behind him, lit a candle and turned on the radio. What the hell? What was he doing in there? Was this guy gonna take a dump and read the paper? I’m kidding. We’re talking about a mouse, people. Although he did run into the bathroom.
The bathroom is small, and this guy only had one place to go - the farthest corner from the door. He hid behind the plunger which is behind the toilet. Such an obvious move. We had a stand-off. I was nervous and didn’t know what to do. My heart was racing. I stepped into the bathroom. Nothing. He was playing it cool. I shook the shower curtain a little. That startled the guy. He charged me. I was in bare feet, and panicked. I started to hop on one foot before switching to the other. I was screaming, too. I was scared that this fat mouse might take me down. It all happened so fast. The mouse ran through my legs as I lost my balance jumping up and down from foot to foot. I bruised my forearm and strained my vocal chords a little. The mouse took me down.
Growing up I didn’t have to deal with this shit. I had cats. Not to mention this mother fucker is big. HUGE! I’d call it a rat due to his size but honestly, after reflecting on how long I’ve lived here, my rich tasting diet, coupled with the fact I’m a great but messy cook who doesn’t clean up well, I’ve come to the conclusion that we are dealing with a very obese mouse. This is a mouse who has no intention of leaving the studio, or rocking the boat as he is living the good life under this roof. I can’t blame him really. This place is like a castle and there is always a great tasting morsel or two dropped from the heavens on a daily basis. If I don’t catch this mouse first he’ll probably get diabetes or eventually die from heart disease. Just saying…
Anonymous said: why?
Why ask why? Drink Bud Dry.