Author Archives: Randy Peterman

The Best Time of Day

The absolutely best time of day for me (or night for that matter) is 12:34:56.  Yup, I’m weird like that.  When I notice that the clock is showing 12:34 I have to stop and enjoy the moment.  Its like this simple pattern that makes my whole day better.  I also have other problems, but I’ll probably post them into a different entry.

Call the RIAA!

This is a weird sarcastic poem that probably will scare more people than amuse 🙂

Today the car next to mine

was cranking his music up to nine
I could hear the lyrics just fine

I hadn’t purchased or paid a dime

Call the R-I-A-A

there must be some fine to pay

The lines are clear, there is no grey

Call the stinking R-I-A-A

He took off when the light turned green

I turned after him to stop his scheme

I had been intending to go straight

But I had to stop this violate

I swerved and shouted at this cheater

Until the cop stopped me like a speeder

He didn’t understand the trouble

With the music outside the bubble

As if the sound wasn’t copyrighted

He arrested me and I was cited

“Call the R-I-A-A,” I rioted

Screaming loudly, angry, violent

I had the right to remain silent

After Dinner Death

The sweet and sour dish wasn’t sour enough so here is the resulting exchange:

“See, that’s why I don’t follow recipes.”

“I thought it was because you couldn’t read”

[Insert God striking me with lightning for disrespecting my elders]

This is for My Mom

This is a post that is not about mice.  It is not about dead mice either.  And it is most certainly not about mice being killed by snakes in her house while I was in school because my brother had a snake that ate mice.

Nope.  This is about other things like me scraping my body all over gravel roads when I was younger and her having to clean up the wounds.  She did that so well.  She also helped track down several snakes my brother had when they would get out of their terrariums.  She was a good mom who was much more patient with us at times when I probably would have lost it with my girls.

Nope, this post isn’t about mice except for the comparison where my mom was strong like Mighty Mouse**.

**Except for the cocain that mighty mouse snorted.

Saw IV: The Mouseman Cometh

Last night a mouse died… under my table saw.  My mother-in-law went into the garage to have a smoke and found the mouse dead there.  Yuck.  Slightly weird.  Death in the garage.

It was actually nice because the mouse had escaped a trap I’d set for it. We saw the snapped trap and a trail of mouse juice leaving AWAY from the trap in another direction that was not towards the saw.  But the saw’s powers were just too great, the mouse had to come out and meet its final destiny under the Ryob.

The worst part was that I had to dispose of the mouse.  I don’t like dead animals for various reasons, but one of them is germs.  I put on work gloves, grabbed a wide open piece of newspaper (for some reason we get a paper even though no one reads it for anything but coupons and comics) and carefully picked up the body.  I had to squeeze the paper until I felt the little body inside of it – which was also not an ok mental experience.   The mouse went into a whole foods paper bag (for some reason I always get paper when I go to Whole Foods – I think I feel like I fit in better when I do), inside of the garbage can,inside of my house, inside the city of Aurora, inside Arapahoe county, inside Colorado, inside the United State, inside North America, inside of the earth… and the tiny germs on the dead mouse stayed off of me.  But just in case I washed my arms up to my shoulders.  Yes, even the hand that didn’t touch the dead mouse newspaper through a leather work glove.