Tell Us About Your Worst Encounter with Rodents

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I haven’t seen many rats lately, which is strange, because I live in New York City. But I’m taking covid-19 very seriously—it’s day 97 of my self-isolation, and I am only sharing that fact to remind everyone to continue to wear a damn mask. While the city self-isolated for the past three months, I assume that rats in the subway and elsewhere only became more frightening and potentially cannibalistic in a sci-fi kind of way; as we slowly emerge, we must prepare for the inevitable vermin vs. human war.

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In preparation, I’m seeking guidance from Jezebel readers. Some of you have voluntarily shared really disturbing stories involving rodents of all kinds in Pissing Contests past, so clearly it is time to dive all the way in. Tell us about your worst encounter with rodents. Squirrels, rats, beavers, gerbils, hamsters—whatever you got, drop ‘em in the comments below.

But first, let’s take a moment to look at last week’s winners. These are your first protest stories.

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witch-cunt, hell yeah:

I was in 7th grade and asked my dad to drop me off alone at a counter protest to the pro-life march that has thousands of people every year in my urban Southern hometown. It was pouring down rain, and there were less than 10 of us standing on a corner completely soaked while tons of people walked past us glaring. An older man stopped to spit towards me and say, “You don’t need to worry about having access to an abortion because no one will ever fuck you.” Thankfully, this was completely untrue and I was able to escape to become an insatiable slut in New York, but it was nice to be featured on the local news channel!

stalefrybread, you rule:

Waaaaay before Kaepernick, in 1988, in very red (back then) Tempe, AZ this NDN refused to say the pledge of allegiance during first period in high school.

My blonde tennis-and-swim coach calculus teacher was not happy. I didn’t even want to stand for it; but he and I compromised (I’m all about that) and I finally stood during the pledge but didn’t recite it or put my hand on my heart because I had just that year figured out I’m not a cult member who swears allegiance to a damn piece of 50-50 cotton/polyester blend fabric.

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“Not a real” DrDonna, this sounds like a wonderful and formative experience!:

Trans March SF, back when I was a baby trans and still mostly masc-presenting! I was so dang nervous, because I wasn’t out at work and it was really one of my first times going out in clothes that sorta-kinda fit my gender identity. At that point, it still felt like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop-to get outed at work, to have my family or friends reject me, all the stuff I had been terrified of while in the closet (and all of which never came to pass). Going there, seeing the amazing variety of people, realizing that my “women’s jean shorts and tee” outfit was *boring* compared to the naked people and drag queens and huge glorious profusion of NorCal Weirdness... It was a truly unique experience and I wouldn’t give it up for anything. It’s been a few years since I was last able to go (it’s always on a Friday, and I work a regular 9-5), but it had a huge effect on me, underscoring that I wasn’t alone, that I wasn’t weird, that there are so many people out there who go through the same thing and much more.

Plus, it really underscored for me what a joke Pride parades have become. Rainbow-themed parties where the police are invited and corporate sponsors build huge floats...nothing like the actual protests and revolutionary actions that birthed the modern LGBT movement.

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meritxell: an erotic life—justified:

Bush inauguration and you’re damn right I’m still salty about the 2000 election

vhmckenzie, ha!:

My very first protest was in 1968, of course!

And I was in the 4th grade at Island Avenue Elementary School.

The teacher had permitted us to push groups of 4 desks together, 2 facing 2, with our friends, rather than sit in regimented rows of singular desks. So progressive! Until she found our constant chatter so unruly that she decided we had to mix it up and forced us to sit boy-girl-boy-girl at said groupings, rather than with our friends, which were typically same-sex because, cooties.

We were all, boys and girls alike, so upset at this re-shuffling that we all wrote “I PROTEST” on scraps of paper, pierced them with our pencils to make quasi-protest signs, and slapped the desks, chanting our demands to change our seats back to the preferred groups.

We were all sent home with the assignment to write “I will not protest my seat in class” one hundred times. That seemed like a small price to pay to make our little voices heard.

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Ponycyndi, you have a good mom:

I was 6. My mom took me and my siblings (5 of us at the time, 7 now) to an abortion clinic. It was the 90's in Dallas. People were locking arms and blocking the entrance at the encouragement of Flip Benham. The cops came, and I was knocked over. I was trying to stay behind my mother, who was in the “chain” as they called it. It was clearly an accident and they tried to apologize, but it was a traumatic event for a small child.

I always hated going, and as an adult I donate to and volunteer at Planned Parenthood.

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Carthalis, I hope you still feel proud:

When I was 17 here in the UK on a gay rights protest against the age of consent, which at the time for gay men was 21 (16 for straight people) and a piece of legislation introduced by Thatcher’s government called Section 28 which at the time banned local governments from ‘promoting homosexuality’. Luckily at the time I had found a local gay youth group, how they managed to get around the ban I’ve no idea but I think they just labelled it as a regular youth group and was run by two social workers to help gay/lesbian teenagers. A protest/march was being organised and I voluntered (I must have been feeling very brave at the time) to stand outside the local government office with a copy of the legislation and burn it. I remember feeling very nervous at the time holding this copy of the law and burning it whilst a newspaper took pictures, but feeling incredibly proud at the time for taking that stand. This was in the early 90's and it wasn’t until 2003 when it was finally removed. The age of consent for gay men went down to 18 in ‘94 and then 16 in 2001.

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Please, no rodent pictures.

Opinions only sometimes my own. Senior Writer, Jezebel. My debut book, LARGER THAN LIFE: A History of Boy Bands, is out now.

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theghostofjimmadison
The Ghost of James Madison's Rage Boner

The first house that Mrs Ghost and I lived in was a new tract development that was carved out of open space next to a large regional park. So naturally the area was full of native wildlife from field mice all the way up to mountain lions. We didn’t see a lot of mice and rats, but it was clear from various evidence they were there.

We move into the house in October so our first Christmas came only a few months later. As I’m bringing the boxes of decorations from the garage into the house, I notice a confused mass of something in one of them, but we had so much Xmas crap that it didn’t really register with me.

However, it did register with our cat, who took an immediate interest in the box and started pawing at the ornaments. Again, I took this as normal cat stuff, at least until Mrs Ghost let out a scream and came running to get me, holding tightly onto the cat. “There’s . . . something . . . in that box.”

The “something” turned out to be a nest of five newborn field mice, still pink and hairless. After Mrs Ghost calmed down, we discussed what to do with them. She decided to call Animal Control. “Flush them down the toilet,” was the reply she got.

Unwilling to commit such an act of rodent infanticide, I spent the next week trying to nurse them along with an eyedropper and some infant formula. It didn’t work - all five died one by one.