The happiest place on earth

There is something living under the house. Under the bathtub, to be exact. I don't know what it is, but it's big, and it squeeks and scratches. Loudly. Way too loud to be a mouse. God knows what it's doing down there. Maybe eating the very foundation of our home. I sit on the toilet and try not to worry about it. But I hear it. The dog hears it too, and when the oprotunity presents itself, she tries to eat her way through the wall and under to floor to protect us from it, whatever it is. Danger from without and within. So we have to keep the bathroom door closed, all the time. A constantly closed door constituting a pertepual hindrance to my personal liberties, and making timing all the more crucial. Yet, that is nothing compared to the shit that's going down in the outside world. But the worst part is, I just can't handle anymore. I used to love to read the newspaper and rant about the greed and stupidity of the world. No more. Can't take anymore. Is this a good thing or a bad thing? I don't know yet. But it just isn't fun anymore. So I wait for the house to cave in. It will someday, of course. Everything ends. It's stupid to pretend otherwise. All you can hope for is to have a few laughs in the meantime. Because, face it, that is all there is.