In telling this story, I am exposing myself to potential shame, but fuck it.When I was a teenager, I had three pet rats. They were all white (not barrymore speak for good) so I nevewr bothered giving them names.
They were great pets (courtesy of P Farrell) and my dad had no objections to me letting them out of the cage so they could wander round our living room and my bedroom.
I had a liberal attitude to feeding them. Genrally, they ate what I ate, and drank what I drank too. They loved coffee, bear, and egg chips bacon and brown sauce. This was the start of an eating frenzy that would eventually take their lives.
When I was fifteen, my mum got me tickets to go to the big smoke to watch Phantom of the opera. The day before, the rats got into my wardrobe and ate the seams on my new 'special occasion' jeans. Mildly annoying, but they seemed happy, and no harm done.
When I got back from London in the early hours, I went in my room, and rather bizarrely, in the middle of the floor was my large tube of bostick. It had been filleted along one edge (rather impressive as it was a metal tube), but there was very little glue on the floor. I also noted the rats where not in their cage, but where all looking pretty wired, hiding under the bed.
The little fuckers appeared to have eaten a whole tube of polystyrene cement.
They lived happy lives for another three months, before all developing golf ball sized tumours all over their bodies, and dying slow and painful deaths. I wonder if the two events were in anyway connected?
(They were great pets (courtesy of P Farrell) and my dad had no objections to me letting them out of the cage so they could wander round our living room and my bedroom.
I had a liberal attitude to feeding them. Genrally, they ate what I ate, and drank what I drank too. They loved coffee, bear, and egg chips bacon and brown sauce. This was the start of an eating frenzy that would eventually take their lives.
When I was fifteen, my mum got me tickets to go to the big smoke to watch Phantom of the opera. The day before, the rats got into my wardrobe and ate the seams on my new 'special occasion' jeans. Mildly annoying, but they seemed happy, and no harm done.
When I got back from London in the early hours, I went in my room, and rather bizarrely, in the middle of the floor was my large tube of bostick. It had been filleted along one edge (rather impressive as it was a metal tube), but there was very little glue on the floor. I also noted the rats where not in their cage, but where all looking pretty wired, hiding under the bed.
The little fuckers appeared to have eaten a whole tube of polystyrene cement.
They lived happy lives for another three months, before all developing golf ball sized tumours all over their bodies, and dying slow and painful deaths. I wonder if the two events were in anyway connected?
Dr Nick Riviera,
Wed 15 Oct 2003, 17:01,
archived)
Had a hamsterPut towel on bed.
Place hamster in middle.
Loosely pick up towel at either end.
Pull hard.
20ft it would shoot in the air*
It lived**
*Dependent on ceiling.
**Cat ate it later. Left the tail on the railings of it's cage. Mum said she buried it. I saw her throw it in the bin.
Also made the dog eat my poo. I was very young. And dirty.
(Place hamster in middle.
Loosely pick up towel at either end.
Pull hard.
20ft it would shoot in the air*
It lived**
*Dependent on ceiling.
**Cat ate it later. Left the tail on the railings of it's cage. Mum said she buried it. I saw her throw it in the bin.
Also made the dog eat my poo. I was very young. And dirty.
Fronkle99,
Wed 15 Oct 2003, 17:10,
archived)