RAT The Gresge and I were sitting downstairs. He was cleaning his guns, I was reading one of his Loompanics books. He had quite a collection: 'Credit!' 'The Poor Man's James Bond' 'How to Change Your Identity' and others. The one I was reading was, 'I Hate You: The Angry Man's Guide to Revenge', by George Hayduke. In our living room, next to the tv, was something very odd. Our artist housemate had made a five foot tall salt shaker out of cardboard, painted it blue, and hung it upside down, with a small pile of salt underneath. He'd originally made it for one of his openings and had tried to explain the effect it was supposed to have on the people in the gallery: "Yeah, it will 'dislocate' and 'make new' the whole experience. It's the 'found object from hell'. I like the frame it provides for the whole show." "But it's a fucking salt shaker." "Philistines." After the show it hung next to the tv, and we took great delight in shooting pennies at it. Sometimes the Gresge would fire one of his pellet guns at it, while taking cover behind the couch and chairs, diving and rolling, yelling "DIE SHAKER DIE!" It never did. There was a pile of garbage next to the couch. We both saw a rat crawl out from it and slowly make its way towards the pile of salt. Gresge, without saying a word, picks up a rifle. "No, Ralph, don't." Pumps it. "Think about it, Ralph." Slaps on the night scope, aims... *BLAMMO*! Rat everywhere. Bullet ricochets off the fireplace, caroms against the radiator and blows out the bulb in the lamp right next to me. I couldn't move for about three hours. Gresge laughs, takes his guns upstairs, and reminds that one girl that it was her turn to clean the living room. Smoothie. ------------