Rat War

I am in the middle of a rat war. So far, there have been two casualties. One rat hobbled out of the hole underneath my house 3 days ago, groaning and twitching from poison and lay down in the leaves, perhaps to die where it was born, carefree in nature. I dropped a thirty pound boulder on its head. The second died a poison death in which I can only imagine his stomach and intestines must have popped open, the insides dripping down the 2 x 4's inside of my wall. Its hot death scent of excreted bowels and rotting skin has attracted an army of flies. I have killed, as of 8pm 7/5/11, approximately 53 winged enemies. Still, I can see no end in sight. A third rat has begun scratching, pulling, shitting, and gnawing at the wooden boards above my small hallway. A few feet away, the chirping squeals of it's two children remind me that enemies never die; they are just reborn. I've called in reinforcements. A man called "Andy." He has two young children at home. He drinks High Life during his work, building things for people, or tearing them down. Tomorrow evening, we plan to lift up a few of the wooden boards, to establish visual contact with the intruders and prepare a necessary attack. I have given my comrade strict instructions to keep his mouth closed. We are preparing for the worst-- An army of giant canyon rats whose gnawing addictions know no boundaries, where even my ear lobes and nostrils are not safe from their jaws. Like some strange rodent brimstone armageddon, I fear rat shit is about to fall from the sky. Babylon lives inside my home. It must fall.