Coming home from the pub, about 12am, I sit down, eat, and decide it'd be a good idea to play with the chinchillas.

It was not.

One of the little bastards escaped. Now they don't look it, but they're the fastest bloody house pet things I have ever seen. And hard to catch without crushing to death/tail falling off/similar fate.

And so ensues roughly an hour and a half of me running round absolutely wasted in my pants and bra, getting bitten, pissed on and screeched at by this rogue rodent, gloriously failing to catch him every single time.

Until about 2am when I conceded defeat and shouted for my parents to come catch it. They caught him in a blanket and then pissed themselves laughing at me, wounded and crying in a corner.

Evil, evil things.

Edit: There was this thing at the local Pizza sell-y place thing involving me, lots of weed, and a moth the size of my hand. This being England and me being stoned and of the moth-hating variety, you could imagine it was quite disturbing. It did not look normal.

It flew at me :(
(sporky, Tue 7 Jun 2005, 19:32, Reply)