Six years.

That’s how long I’ve had to deal with those little fuckers.

And they’re cunning little sons of bitches too. Nobody has ever suspected them. The entire neighbourhood thinks I’m crazy, and every scheme I’ve ever had to prove that I’m the victim here they’ve pre-empted and foiled. You know the velociraptors in Jurassic Park. Think of them, only much smarter.

When Agnes first moved in across the way six years ago, we were all thrilled to have her. She was such a sweet old lady, always baking cakes for the boy scouts to raffle, always giving the kids extra nice candy on Halloween. Always ready with a bottle of whiskey and a story about the war for the more grown-up visitors like myself.

And sure, her hobby seemed a little strange at first. But we learned to live with it. And anyway they were such cute little devils. Although you couldn’t pet them, cause they bit. That should have been the first clue.

I asked her once how they survived out here, given our cold Northern European climate. She said she had a special formula of vitamins she gave them all every six hours. And its that formula I blame for them becoming super-intelligent. That formula, along with her laziness about keeping her door locked has been responsible for my torture.

Prairie dogs. Everywhere. All the time. Little bastards. They hang around outside my windowsill, shrieking like ravens. How the fuck does a prairie dog even make a noise like that anyway? Theese things are beyond prarie dogs. They're some breed of super-prairie dog. In the morning, they wait until I’m standing in my driveway, then run out of their nocturnally dug burrows, knock me to the ground and steal my lunch.

My appeals to have them all put down have failed. My attempts to capture them have always been thwarted. Every time I try to shoot one or stab one, another appears out of nowhere and nips my wrist. Every time I try to photograph one, they sneak into my room and “mysteriously” nibble the film.

Mutant prairie dogs are ruining my life. I can’t sleep at night. They taunt me. Always. So tonight, I shall fix them.

While reading The Prophecies Of Moloch, I came across the following passage:

Tormented by the invaders,
The warrior shall lead one last charge
Detroying enemy, warrior
House and all

Of course, Moloch students generally consider this a prophecy of the forthcoming war in Israel. I’m not sure. Tonight, I’m going to make it come true in some small way.

Tonight I have a surprise for the prairie dogs.

Tonight, I have 10lbs of homemade semtex around my house.

Tonight, when they come to mock me, I’ll be ready.

I’m going to hell, and those damn prairie dogs are coming with me.