Rastaman folk tales: Mousey tale (third hippie story)

Rastaman folk tales: Mousey tale (third hippie story)

Here is a story which happened with an old rastaman. So, the old rastaman wakes up at his place and thinks two thoughts. First thought: "Wow, cool." Well, this thought is just abstract, he always thinks like that when he wakes up and his stash is full: "Wow, cool." Because it's cool indeed. The body is like a feather, the brain is like a colander, the stomach is empty. So, this is a second thought: "It would be nice to just stand up and munch the yesterday's leftovers. Because it's a lot of leftovers there, like a can of spam, a loaf of bread, a half-pot of mash, so it's kinda quite a lot of leftovers out there. So, he stands up and goes to munch'em.

But, in fact, there are no leftovers - just an empty pot. There is even no bread. Nothing left at all, in fact. The rastaman thinks aloud: "Who gobbled up all my leftovers?" Then, an ominous sepulchral voice answers from under the dresser: "IT'S ME WHO GOBBLED UP YOUR LEFTOVERS!!!" The rastaman was even surprised: "What does it mean "I gobbled up your leftovers"? It's not even ever possible that I gobbled up your leftovers. Well, you know, don't scare the shit out of me, because it's not about your leftovers at all. How it could be your leftovers in my place? It's a load of bull, man..." But the voice answers: "Moron! I'm repeating you one more time: I gobbled up YOUR leftovers!" The rastaman tells: "Who are you to call me a moron in my own place? If you are so cool, get out from under this dresser and I'll show you who wear pants in this house." The voice answers: "YES, I AM COOL! HOLD ON TO A CHAIR, BASTARD, I'M COMING FOR YOU!!!"

So, the rastaman grabbed a chair. He stood and waited but nobody came from under the dresser. He waited up a half-hour of minutes and went to buy some bread. After return he sat and started to eat. Suddenly, a voice from under the dresser told: "Dude, don't be such a douche! Gimme some bread!"

The rastaman looked up and saw a green mousey with red eyes waddling out from under there. Mousey tells: Please, gimme some bread!" The rastaman answers: "Bread? Ass spread! That's to you for calling me a moron. Go back under the dresser and don't disturb me when I'm eating." The mousey gets under the dresser and starts bitching from there: "You are a douchebag, muthafucka! You grudged a poor mousey the very food she eats! Wait, I'll come out at night and eat everything up again."

And she disappeared. The rastaman was scared. At night, he's either asleep or stoned, so he doesn't control the situation. And the mousey, she's, you know, doesn't sleep at night and she can see in the dark. Now he needs to get into a trouble to hide food from her, so she won't eat it up. It's so boring, like being at the war, and now he can't even smoke up like he used to - he should think about the mousey all the time, so she won't eat anything. He rolled a joint and smoked it up - but no high at all! What a fucking mousey - she came and messed up all his life.

The rastaman thinks: "Well, probably, I should find a rastafarian cat and enlist her to deal with the mousey." It was not a big deal to find the rastafarian cat. Because since she drunk up rastafarian milk last night she's still lying in the middle of the room like a sack of weed. The rastaman starts to pull her about: ears, whiskers, tail and so on. Finally, she opens her left eye and tells: "Wow, cool. It would be nice to munch some leftovers now." The rastaman patiently and clearly explains her situation with leftovers and the mean mousey, which mousey should be eaten by the cat ASAP. The cat listen him attentively then tells: "Dude, I understood it will be no breakfast today? Well then, I'll chill out a bit, m'kay?" And closes her left eye back.

Then, his friends-rastamen come and find their buddy scared as a hell lying on the floor beside the totally wasted cat. They tell: "Don't shit, dude! We'll smoke a bit and kick the shit out of this mousey, so she won't cause trouble anymore." The mousey answers them from under the dresser: "You'll wear your asses out trying to kick my butt, you red-eyed mooses." She's teasing them, indeed. But she doesn't come out from under the dresser.

The rastamen went postal and made up an atrocious scheme how to drive out the mousey from under the dresser and to punish her harshly. So, it goes like that: two rastamen shall stand on chairs and shake the dresser from the top, one more rastaman shall bang the dresser with his fist, one more guy shall rummage under the dresser with a mop and another one shall wait beside the dresser with two bottles to throw them to the mousey when she comes out. They puffed up a fattie and proceeded to execution of their scheme. So, two rastamen stood up on chairs and started to shake the dresser. One more rastaman is rhythmically banging on the dresser with his fist; one more guy is rummaging under the dresser with a mop with the same rhythm. And the old rastaman is banging bottles to the same rhythm. Gradually, they all tuned up to each other and started to jam something industrial, like Einsturzende Neubauten.

So, they jam like that for fifteen minutes or even a half of hour, and suddenly hear that somebody is playing a guitar along with them. The sound sounds unfamiliar, definitely not from local scene, but cool, smooth and, what's most important, really matching their jam. They looked around - and saw some dude of mysterious name and origin. Rastamen asked him: "Hey, dude, where are you from?" He answered: "I'm from Quebec City. I was passing by your place, heard your percussions jam and decided to join with my guitar. Rastamen told: "We are not jamming, man. We are driving the mousey from under the dresser."

The quebecois looked under the dresser and told: "Well, dudes, you can try like that until the end of the season. Because she's already is under the floor. You have a hole in the plinth and she skipped there when you started to jam."

Rastamen checked it out and found that there is indeed a damn huge hole down there. And told: "Wow, what a bright guy! We were clowning around with bottles and a mop. And you, man, immediately understood that she skipped. Listen, dude, maybe you know how to put down this biatch so she would never cause trouble anymore. Because she's staying here just one day and already bugged everybody." The quebecois told: "It depends on what kind of mousey you've got." The old rastaman told: "Well, she's, you know... She's, like, scary, green one with eyes like cherry tomatoes." The quebecois answered: "It's not a problem at all. Give up doping for a week and she will disappear by herself."

All the rastamen started to rumble: "Stop bullshiting us, man! You are talking like a fucking shrink. How it's even possible to do not smoke for a whole week without going cucu bananas?" The quebecois told: "Let's try another way, easier one. Let's bake some brownies, put few of them on a dish and leave in the middle of the room. They mousey will come over at night, gobble up the brownies and become stoned. We will catch her and send back to Mexico, because she clearly doesn't belong here. Let send her straight to Mexico. But first we need to move the dresser to another corner." Rastamen thought on it and told: "Dude, it there any way to do NOT move this dresser? It's so motherfucking heavy, like a pickup truck." But the quebecois told: "We do need to move it, dudes! I dunno why but I feel it with my gut." And without further talking he stood up and set his shoulder against the dresser. Meeting his wishes, all the rastamen helped him to move the dresser to another corner - quite fast, without any smoking breaks and even almost without swearing.

Then, they quickly picked some weed on the backyard, cooked brownies and ate three of them each other, and in a half of hours they were already totally fucked up. They are sitting on the floor and looking obsessively on the dish with brownies, waiting when the mousey will come and start to eat them. There is swirling and stir on the dish, flowers are growing, birds are singing, whole universes are emerging and disappearing and stuff like that. Suddenly a green mousey appears, jumps on the brownies, starts to wriggle and roll on the dish, runs, jumps and eating, eating, eating - and finally she gobbled up all brownies and stoned in the middle of the dish. Rastamen understood that they need to catch her now, and start to catch. And she starts to crawl away from them. So they are crawling after her and she's crawling from them. They crawl and crawl and finally the mousey dives below the dresser. And the rastamen hit their heads against the dresser and think all together: "Fuck! What a fast biatch!"

After fifteen minutes, rattling, dull strokes of a head against the wall and loud swearing starts under the dresser. It's the shit-scared mousey tries to find her hole in the plinth and of course can't find it. Because the dresser was moved. So she runs below the dresser, rams the plinth and yells: "Those bastards walled me up!" Then, the quebecois poked his hand below the dresser, took the mousey from there and asked: "Got your ass into a huge trouble, green one?"

The mousey evaluated the situation and understood that she in a trouble indeed. And told: "Dude, I plead innocent. You know, yesterday I've got horrible munchies. Isn't it okay to eat something?" The quebecois told: "They will always give you food, if you ask politely. Just don't behave like a jerk, m'kay?" The mousey told: "But he assaulted me first and didn't give me any bread." The quebecois told: "Are you really that stupid? It looks like you didn't get what I said and should get a lesson." The mousey understood that the dude really means business and he's not a pacifist at all, so she told: "Okay, okay, okay. Yes, I understand everything, it was totally my fault, please don't give me a lesson. I already understood everything. I will not cause trouble anymore. Please just do not give me a lesson."

Then, the quebecois put the mousey on the floor and told: "Watch your step. If these dudes complain again - two hits and you're out. Capiche?"

The mousey answered quickly: "Yes, officer!" And dived back under the dresser. In half of hour she came back and told: "Guys, I don't understand... Where is my hole?"

But rastamen are already napping - it was a hard day for them, indeed. They are tired, and so on. The brownies added up as well. And they don't fucking care about her problems, even the rastafarian cat ignores the mousey. Well, the mousey stayed there until the morning, didn't find any hole, gave up and got lost. And nobody saw her there again.

Original Russian text: (c) HighDuke

Ðàñòàìàíñêèå íàðîäíûå ñêàçêè :: Ñêàçêè è ïðî÷åå

English translation: (c) juzy

juzy: СкÐзкÐ про мышу (треÑ‚ий Ñ…ипичеÑ�кий рÐÑ�Ñ�кÐз)