I have a mouse.

I have had mice before. I’ve probably had a lot of mice, actually, but I don’t really want to think about that. In my time here in this crapbox apartment, I have killed two mice. By execution traps. I do not believe in sticky traps, those are cruel. But I also do not believe in those have-a-heart traps because, sadly, I do not have a heart. I want to DESTROY and KILL. DESTROY AND KILL TILL THEY ARE DESTROYED AND KILLED. It is not like I am killing giant pandas here. They are mice. Yes, they have feelings. But, I also have feelings. These feelings include rage, anxiety, maybe a little bit of fear, disgust, and the ability to ignore feelings of compassion to kill mice. I am human! I’ve got opposable thumbs. Opposable thumbs that help me set traps to kill mice. Muuhahaha! That is my evil laugh! Which I can do because I am human! Muuhahaah!

So the problem here is that the mouse is stuck in my oven. And not like in the baking area. I mean INSIDE my oven. In the guts of my oven. Where the pipes and the wires and coils all meet in some kind of oven jungle. I have a feeling it’s stuck inside and can’t get out because I hear it gnawing at something. And not gnawing on food, but like, on something metal. It’s really trying to get out of there. So when you bang on the oven, it sorta just stops. And then starts right back up again. It doesn’t scurry away. Probably because it CAN’T. FUCKKKK. There’s a mouse stuck in my oven!

So yes, I turned on the oven, but then I felt guilty and also, baking a mouse is thoroughly disgusting and probably not healthy. Also I am vegetarian, so baking an animal is not something I do. Also, like, what’s the best temperature to bake a mouse at? 375°? 450°? That’s degrees F (Europeans you will have to do the math). So I turned the oven off. But then all night this fucking MOUSE was trying to gnaw its way out of a stainless steel box. Look, buddy, COME OUT THE WAY YOU GOT IN. Oh wait, you don’t remember because you are a stupid mouse. Gah.

Right now the mouse is quiet. However, I know that mice prefer the night, much like hookers. So I must wait to see if it found its way out, somehow. Why did it get into my oven in the first place? I barely use that thing because it leaks carbon monoxide. Not to mention the fact that now it’s probably leaking a shitload because the mouse ate through the tubes. So now I’m probably going to die. Yeah, I do have a carbon monoxide detector, but sadly, it is out of batteries. Oh well. If you don’t hear from me it’s because I got really, really sleepy.

My acupuncturist is Japanese and said something very funny awhile ago: “You know the Japanese, we see people having fun and we want to have fun too. But we’re Japanese so we want to have MORE fun.” Haha I love her, she just says it like it is. Then, she stabbed me with the needle. (Speaking of which, NYC peeps in need of a really awesome acupuncturist, email me. And ladies: This will do wonders on the lady-bits. I’m telling you, I’m not really into this hippie-dippie shit, but the lady-bits are in a fine state these days. Even I cannot deny it. I’m for serious! No, no, no you shut up!)

OK, I bring this up because my friend Stephanie Choi (no relation, but is the other half of our “band,” Choi Division) sent me something very, very righteous. It is the Japanese version of the SNUGGLIE and here it is:

It is like EXTREME SNUGGLIE. An EXTREME Snugglie that makes a bold, bold statement: “Hi America, It’s, me Japan, and I TOTALLY PWND YOU.” This makes other Snugglies look like a regular blanket without sleeves. It might even make other Snugglies look like a stupid cloth napkin. I’m foreseeing some serious Snugglie proliferation. Like…a Snugglie Cold War, if you will. Now America has to step up and find the next generation of Snugglie.

Canada will try to get in on the action, but no one will care. Everyone will be like, get out of our sandbox Canada! Go be polite and enjoy your national health care somewhere else. This is for big kids!

The Europeans will, as usual, laugh at this but secretly want it. I mean look at that thing! It’s a COCOON of AWEZOME.

I can’t wait for the Snugglie with wifi.

This was sent to me by Marco. Taken in a Taipei hotel room, I think.

It’s an Internet Hole! A hole from which you get the Internets. Some people thought the Internets came from the air, but actually it comes from a hole. See? You learn things here at Annietown.

I am continuing to clean out my inbox. It’s like stepping into the Way Back Machine. Except the Way Back Machine is filled with all kinds of crap.

Here is something I just found. This was sent to me by Aaron. Found on a plastic bag that came around his new laptop. I can’t tell if they are warnings or instructions. Either way, you don’t need warnings or instructions on a effin plastic bag.

Remember you guys, don’t put plastic bags on your head and choke yourself. You probably only need to do one or the other, but not both. Both seems overkill. Just saying.

Also don’t put a plastic bag on a baby’s head. If you want to keep the baby fresh, put the bag over the entire baby and store it in a cool, dry place or in the crisper of your refrigerator.

I am currently cleaning THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF MY APARTMENT. It’s a big Korean/Asian thing to clean THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF YOUR HOME to usher (Usher!!!) the New Year. Since I’m leaving for California tomorrow, I have to clean THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF MY APARTMENT now before I leave.

I have made…some archeological discoveries whilst cleaning, I will share them with you because I love you all and I think it’s important that you understand what I have discovered because they are pieces of history and they are valuable and will make me very, very rich.

-A bottle of ketchup. It looks like regular ketchup. Heinz brand. Because Hunts brand really does suck it, I don’t know why anyone bothers to get anything else but Heinz. Seriousy. Don’t be a prick, spend the extra dollar and get the Heinz. Anyway it is ketchup. It is red, it is thick, it is ‘chock full of lypoprene’ which sounds like something my bathing suit is made out of or something baseball players put on their junk because it itches. The only problem with my ketchup is that IT EXPIRED IN TWO THOUSAND AND FIVE. That is (nearly) FIVE YEARS AGO. HALF A DECADE AGO.

-A can of Campbell’s Vegetarian Vegetable Alphabet Soup. I rarely eat canned soup, unless I am very, very desperate. Like when I was in grad school and had $5 in my bank account. What can $5 get you in NYC? Well, it gets you a can of soup and a bagel. It does not get you salad, however. You know how people reminice about their “salad days”? Well clearly they did not live in NYC because you cannot afford salad here. Lettuce costs more than $5. Anyway the point is, my “salad days” were more like “soup days”. I happen to like soup, it is kind of like drinking a food pyramid. Kind of convenient. Anyway, this can of Campbell’s Vegetarian Vegetable Alphabet Soup expired in TWO THOUSAND AND FOUR. Which is when I was in grad school. SIX YEARS AGO. SIX! HALF A DOZEN YEARS AGO!

-I found a bag of what might be brown sugar, but it looks more like a brown brick that is ROCK SOLID. If I had a thousand more of these, I would build myself a wood-fire pizza oven. A PIZZA OVEN, PEOPLE. Everyone likes pizza, am I right? Just say yes even if you don’t agree. Pizza is like advanced phD level toast. You know how much I love toast.

-I also found the following:
Godiva Chocolate Liquor, a third of a bottle
Frangelico, almost finished. Maybe a few tablespoons left
Kahlua, half a bottle
Amaretto, three-quarters of a bottle
Triple Sec, quarter left

I should make some kind of adult beverage out of this business. Like an adult milkshake. But probably not with the triple sec, that stuff is kind of weird. Is there such thing as Double Sec? I mean maybe triple is just too much. Maybe I just want double? You know, I’m trying to moderate more. Triple just seems extreme. Double is fine, thank you.

-I FOUND A TRASH CAN. A REAL TRASH CAN. Tucked away on the pantry floor. Holy shit. A garbage can. I can see why I hid it away. it is a real piece of shit. I wanted to throw the garbage can in the garbage can. I’m not sure how to do that, so I just gave it to my neighbors.

-A box of 3-hole-punched paper. Curious. I have no idea how it got here, nor do I ever remember needing it or using it or buying it. It is a gift from Santa. On his days off he works at Staples. It’s a recession, everyone’s taking on more responsibilties.

-I found a pair of binoculars. Nice. It was in my pantry, next to a can of chile peppers in adobo. Because that is where one keeps binoculars.

I found some other stuff too, all historical artifacts that will make me very very rich. I’m going to the Natural History museum tomorrow to sell all this stuff, I am sure they will be very happy. If not, I’ll give it to the Met. I hear they’ll take anything.

HOLY SHIT IT IS SO COLD IN MY APARTMENT RIGHT NOW. BLAAAH!

I am wearing a puffy coat. It is like one of those coats that’s like a sleeping bag with sleeves. You know this, yes? It is ugly precisely because sleeping bags are ugly and a sleeping bag with sleeves on it is even uglier. I have yet to see a sleeping bag with sleeves that does not look ugly. It’s kind of like how I’ve never seen a pigeon that is not ugly. The shit does not exist. Like freakin unicorns. (In an aside, when I was nine I met this girl who was convinced that unicorns were real and lions were make-believe and I remember being like, dude, you are an idiot, and she was totally adamant about it. I even busted out the encyclopedia and showed her an entry for lions and then she showed me the entry for unicorns and it was, like, a really confusing time for me.)

Anyway I’m wearing one of those puffy coats INSIDE my apartment and I am STILL cold. I am also wearing over the knee long socks that are so tight and thick that they are cutting off circulation to my vagina, not to be crass or anything. I am also wearing Pikachu slippers which are like sticking your feet into two large stuffed animals. I am also wearing a hat, a scarf, and fingerless gloves.

AND I AM STILL COLD.

In addition, I am boiling a large pot of water to heat up my apartment. It is…not working. It actually does work if I stand right next to the pot of water, but unfortunately my legs are getting tired FROM STANDING NEXT TO A POT OF WATER. THIS IS WHAT MY LIFE HAS BECOME.

It is FUCKING COLD AND I AM FUCKING ANGRY. I AM IN A FROZEN RAGE. A FRAGE! FRAAGGEE!

Landlord has not returned calls. I don’t think he is there. He is certainly not here. I mean if he were here, he’d be like WTF WHY IS IT SO GODDAMN COLD IN THIS APARTMENT SOMEONE SHOULD TELL THE LANDLORD and then I’d kick him in the sac.

My posse and I roll into a supermarket because that is how my posse rolls, and we are looking for ice cream because we are a very hard posse, and we roll into the “ice cream & frozen novelties” section. And next to the Klondike Eskimo Pies and next to the Popsicle Brand Fudgsicles, we see this.

READ CAREFULLY.

FROSTY PAWS.

IT IS ICE CREAM FOR DOGS.

Ice cream. For. Your. Dog. For your goddamn dog, you guys!

A few things:

1. This “treat” is right next to shit people eat. Like nestled between frozen novelties specifically created for HUMANS. Between the Klondike Bars and the Fudgsicles. As if to say “IF YOU LOVVEE KLONDIKE BARS, THEN YOU’LL LOOVVEE FROSTY PAWS!” I can foresee a situation where someone quickly picks this up because of the cute packaging and then goes home and then, upon discovery, becomes sad. And maybe, just maybe, a little curious. Like, hmm, what if I tried this? And after a few sniffs and rudimentary licks and a double-dare from your stoner of a roommate and then a choke and a gag, the depression truly sets in. Not to mention the fact that when you want ice cream, you really want fucking ice cream and now you are left without ice cream. Or a dog. That is the true sad story there.

2. The packaging looks very close to a kids’ cereal, which makes the whole thing even more disturbing.

3. JUST BECAUSE PEOPLE EAT ICE CREAM, DOES NOT MEAN DOGS SHOULD.

4. DOGS DO NOT NEED ICE CREAM. They lick their own buttholes. They eat garbage. They don’t need ice cream, you guys.

This kind of goes along with what I was saying before about dogs not needing sweaters because they are born with them. They don’t need ice cream. They don’t have to eat the same food as you. In fact, they shouldn’t. I imagine, and correct me if I’m wrong here, that when packs of dogs were running buck-wild, they did not eat ice cream. A raging mutt did not hunt and catch a squirrel and think, god I can really use a Frosty Paws right now. They also did not think, man life would be so much cooler if I were in someone’s handbag.

Ugh. I can’t stand that dogs are turning into people. We have enough people on this planet. Let dogs be dogs. THUMBS DOWN!!!!

Out of curiosity I googled “what to do if your toaster oven catches on fire” and then the first hit was a review of my fucking toaster oven on Amazon. Here are some quotes:

“The turd of toasters”

“Great way to burn down your house”

“Substandard product”

“Worst product ever, buy fire insurance”

“Expected better from Black and Decker”

These were all one star reviews. The average review was two stars, and it’s only because one asshole gave it four stars and killed the curve. Either way two star rating is pretty bad because it’s not like Amazon stars are like Michelin stars, you know what I mean? Fucking hot mitts and pot holders get 5 stars on that thing. You have to SUCK IT HARD to get low ratings. Seriously. I am a big fan of Amazon ratings by the way. I’d love to edit a book of awesome product reviews, but I’m pretty sure that book exists and I’m pretty sure no one read it.

The good news is that I bought this toaster for $20 at Target and it’s probably because they wanted to unload this garbage.

The other good news is that my apartment smells like a toaster oven.

The other good news is that I probably have to get a new toaster because I think this shit shorted out. This will be my second toaster oven in one year. My god. I mean I really love toast soo this is kind of heartbreaking. I feel like I lost a friend. A shitty, asshole friend who stole my money and broke all my dishes.

I just made myself toast. I put bread in the toaster because that is how you make toast. Then the bread caught on fire inside the toaster oven. I am not sure how this happened. Like how does bread just spontaneously combust? I don’t understand, but here is what I understand: fire = bad in 90% of all places.

So, I freaked out and then opened the oven door to blow the flame out and then the toast caught on even MORE fire because remember that thing where you need fuel and oxygen to feed a fire? Well I just gave it a shitload of oxygen so then it was like a raging campfire inside my toaster oven. So I freaked out and then closed the oven door in order to cut off oxygen, but I guess the oven door does not create an airtight seal. So it was just on fire for like EVER. So I contemplated throwing the entire thing in the bathtub, but eventually opened the oven door again and blew it out. For a splitsecond I had this vision of my apartment catching on fire, and you know what I thought? Oh man I am so glad I have renter’s insurance and also, I really want toast. Seriously, that is what I thought.

So the question is, who wants toast? Plenty for everyone, don’t be shy. You can get it with butter, peanut butter, or fruit jam (”Fruits of the Forest” flavor, whatever that is. It’s one of those flavors you are like WTF, I better get this shit because it sounds hilarious and possibly delicious. But it’s actually just a mix of berries, but I guess they didn’t want to call it “Mixed Berries” because that obviously doesn’t sound sexy at all. I mean would you rather get Fruits of the Forest or Mixed Berries? I rest my case.)

There’s more where that came from.

Also, do you think I should try toasting again? I cannot believe I messed up toast. That’s hard to do. Like advanced idiocy.

I am cleaning out my inbox and I found two really awesome things.

The first came from my friend who is a landscape architect. He was looking for a bench to spec in a drawing or whatever and found this ad in a catalogue.

I agree with Big Wayne: I really CANNOT STAND a recycled bench that sags. However, I do recommend that instead of making the bench stronger, he should lose some weight.

This next one came from my friend Dominic who is a flaky loser (YES DOM I’M TALKING TO YOU LET’S CAGEMATCH THOUGH I’M SURE YOU’LL FLAKE ON THAT) and also an architect, though his being a flaky loser or an architect has absolutely nothing to do with the awesomeness of this sweet effing poster.