There is some consensus that peanut butter or bacon is the best, 
but killing something just to kill something smaller is so American,
and for years I’ve been trying my best to be the worst American I can,
so before I put on my shoes I’ve already decided on peanut butter.

I’m skeptical of the selection at Ace because it’s a shitbox, straight-up 
pathetic compared to all the great big bad-assedly big bigness of Lowe’s, 
but Ace is a co-op or something, and when I’m in the right mood I pretend 
I support things like that, things that are an easy walk from my house.

Even on this nostalgically short aisle there’s a cornucopian overabundance 
(7000 “humane volts,” shimmering pools of glue, crystalline Hydramethylnon,) 
of options for killing the mighty little ant, the adorably blind mole, the Indian
meal moth, and the god damned rat, with its great plagues and puny turds. 

I’m holding a Havahart X-Small 1-Door trap in my hands, but the door
looks chintzy, slow to drop, and I can’t take my eyes off of the Victor
BM201, its crisp little plank of wood, its boldly simple red logo stamped
right there, all the steely efficiency and snappy confidence, the proven success. 

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