It’s well known that members of my species are great scavengers … we’ll eat just about anything. And as it happens, a rodent friend of mine, Gus, has a particular talent for sniffing out the greatest ginuea pig-out spots in our native home of Ratlanta, Georgia. About a week back, Gus and I went out for a night on the town and came across one of his favorite scavenging sites, O’Flannigan’s Irish Pub, home of the best corned beef and cabbage this side of the British Isles. Darting between the legs of a few unwitting parishioners and dashing around the corner just in time to miss the watchful eye of the Assistant Manager, Gus and I scuttled out the back door of the kitchen over to the double-wide dumpster, eyes gleaming as we anticipated the feast that awaited us.
We rats eat anything, as I mentioned, but my pal Gus does have a refined palate for what even rats like me find a bit gross. Hang around him long enough, and you’ll see why we say he puts the “Gus” in disgusting. Case in point: while I was scrounging around for some mozzarella sticks and a bit of soda bread, Gus wasted no time tackling the remnants of an O’Flannigan’s House Special: colcannon complete with potatoes, ham crisps, and eight heads of cabbage, plus broccoli, eggs (hard-boiled, of course), and beans. And of course he topped the meal off with his favorite stinky cheese, Limburger, which I think smells like feet. Really nasty feet.
Our hunger satiated, Gus and I strolled away from the pub … a little wobbly, since we did accidentally fall into an open Guinness keg about halfway through our meal. (Gus was disappointed when I told him I didn’t think sipping on an Irish coffee would be a good way to sober up.) As we meandered toward Gus’s home in the sewer, I couldn’t help but notice these little farting noises emanating from my ratty friend’s rear end as his hind-paws waddled back and forth. I glanced behind me to see some noxious, green fumes slowly streaming out, withering plants and causing car tires to burst as they drifted past, and silently thanked my lucky whiskers that we were facing a head wind that night!
I dropped Gus off at his designated sewer hole and was on the way back to my own hovel when, just a few minutes into my rove, I heard a giant BOOM! I looked back to see a huge mushroom cloud streaming from Gus’s manhole, and Gus crawling slowly to the top, flopping onto his back, and letting his huge belly bulge out, a contented and drowsy grin spreading across his whiskers. That night humans heard on their evening news many reports on the localized earthquake or explosion or freak of weather that rattled the heart of the city, but I knew, and now you know, the real reason the streets of Ratlanta shook that night.
If you have a night on the town planned soon (and I hope you do), I hope your evening is rat-tastic and the food is squeak-a-licious. Take heed, however, that if you go with a friend like my buddy Gus, either bring along a gas mask for yourself or some Gas-X for your pal. Besides, everyone nose that to do otherwise would be hazardous to your health!
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob
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