Home > Uncategorized > Toxoplasma

Toxoplasma

http://www.scientificamerican.com/podcast/episode.cfm?id=toxoplasma-infected-rats-love-their-11-08-17

The article literally takes less than a minute and a half to read I listened to it, and it goes into better detail than I will here. Rats that touch cat poop containing the Toxoplasma brain parasite “has increased activity in brain regions associated with sexual attraction” when they smell cat urine. So the Toxo-infected rats “actually follow cat odors, often presumably to their doom, red in tooth and claw.” I found this creepy, in an inspiring way, and wanted to construct a narrative around this idea. Here it is, the first part takes place in the seweres:

It’s not true.

I’m telling you it’s true. My cousin saw it.

You have so many cousins, one of them is bound to be crazy.

Well-

And poop? Poop? we pass poo so often here it’s part of the scenery.

The two rats scurried through the drain pipe drawn by the smell of food, pausing occasionally, noses up to get their bearing.

You with the ghost rats, the vampire rats, the Frankenstein rats with random human parts growing from them. Now you’re telling me about poop that turns rats into horny sex zombies.

But-

Not just sex zombies, sex zombies who get turned on by the smell of cats

Well, yeah-

But think they’re smelling horny female rats.

Huh, did I ever tell you, you’re a great listener?

As they rounded a corner, they found the source of the smell, a discarded pizza crust with bits of old cheese stuck to the paper plate it was folded into.

What is it? Can I just smell crazy better than you can?

He said it happened to a good friend. Got a crazy look in his eye, a huge woody, and kept carrying on about a hot girl he smelled. My cousin couldn’t smell it, wasn’t horny, so he just didn’t keep up the pace.

Ha-ha, wow, convenient.

Well it was! If he had kept up, that cat might’ve killed him instead.

Well no, according to your zombie theory. Your cousin’s buddy would have just been looking all over that cat trying to find the imaginary rat the poop made him smell. How does poop even factor into this story?

Finished with the pizza crust, they ran out into the open air in search of more food.

Well, they’d been hanging out the day earlier and when they slipped and fell down a chute, some of his front paws hit some poop at the bottom but my cousin missed it completely.

Okay, this whole thing sounds like one of those complicated lies you tell to get out of something.

That story about the human wearing a meat dress was true! http://images.huffingtonpost.com/2010-09-13-ladygagameatdress.jpg

Second, making rats terrified of poo is cruel. We got enough to be scared of without your crazy cousin spreading rumors.

Ask anyone, he’s still depressed and refuses to go anywhere near poop.

I never said he was lying. I said he was crazy. Poop is literally everywhere. I smell food. I smell girls. I barely notice poop until it’s right in front of me. What the-

In front of them, the ground was littered with rat corpses. all of it seemed to be the work of cats.

“You didn’t smell this, Mr. I Smell Everything.”

“Shut up, let’s get out of here.”

A large shadow moved in their periphery.

“RUN!”

And they ran, well aware only one of them could make it out alive. They moved in and out of broken containers, under tables, through bushes. Unfortunately, their instincts led them to the same dead end, shaking terrified as their pursuer stared at them inquisitively.

Ah see, that’s what I miss. The chase, the hunt. Thought the killing was my favorite part but after killing the 10th one that ran up to get a good smell of me ran, I just wanted a way to do it without touching you.

Screw you, Lady! Still shaking, Gene was in awe of his friend. The cat continued undeterred.

No, the first few were fun but-

Seriously, if you’re gonna eat us quit playing with us and do it.

Did you just wet yourself? Gene asked.

N-no, yes, who cares?! It’s about to murder us. Is this a bad time for you?

You could die with some-

Are you two done?

By now, they were as irritated with each other as they were scared of the cat. Ultimately, they were a captive audience albeit poorly behaved. They listened as the cat told them of how horny rats had been finding her in the area and how as a domesticated cat she actually had little to no appetite for rat meat but hunting was still her favorite past time. She wanted to know the reason foe this phenomenon. After some more arguing, Gene convinced Syd to tell his cousin’s story.

“Now you’re messing with me.”

She sauntered off.

“You don’t remember killing him?”

She paused without turning around.

No all you rats look the same to me and I’m not the only rat killer in this area. Anyway, I stuck around longer because of my curiosity. I’m going to hunt elsewhere. Maybe find some smarter rats…no offense.

Their hearts finally began to slow down after she had been out of their view for a few minutes.

Did we just survive…talk to a cat?

Yeah, she was hot though, right?

Syd, I can smell your crazy.

I mean, I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind being a cat.

You know what? Me neither. You hungry?

They hurried off to find food unaware of the danger approaching because of their conversation with the cat. She had gone to find a new hunting ground as she said but on her way she picked up two of the most freshly killed rats she could find. She liked to hunt but she didn’t like competing with street cats for territory or fighting off their advances. Using the rats as evidence of plenty, she convinced the alley cats that hunting in the area she just came from left her too stuffed to have another bite. The alley cats were always looking for an easy meal and set off to find the willing prey she had described.

In a few hours there were so many cats in the area Gene and Syd and the rest of the rats could hear them in all directions. Panicked rats provided cats with more proof of how easily they could find sustenance.

That cat screwed us.

What? The same cat you wanted to mount a few hours ago.

So it’s just coincidence that we talk to a cat-

Keep your voice down! You want everyone knowing this is our fault.

Our fault, you’re the one who told me to tell her about the poo.

Gene’s face lit up.

You’re right.

I am?

It’s not our fault. It’s the poop’s fault.

Gene darted off. Syd raced to catch him. Gene slowed down near Syd’s cousin’s nest.

You have to get him to tell us where the poop is.

What? Why? It’s what started all this trouble in the first place.

We have to think like cats to get out of here. Cats want easy kills. At least, at first. All we gotta do is convince everybody else to roll in the poop and use them to get out of here.

What? No!

Yeah, and when they ask why we’re not covered in poop, we just tell them that we would look like crazy rats covered in poo trying to get others to join us.

No, I mean we shouldn’t. They want to eat without putting much work into it. There’s no guarantee we don’t trip and end up bowels deep in a cat. Hiding’s smarter. Most of them will get bored and go back where they came from, but-

How do you-

But if we make it easy for them, it’ll just attract more cats.

Gene regained his composure.

This is a nightmare.

Yup.

And zombie sex rats barely have anything to do with it.

Syd sighed, “I know. Let’s find somewhere to ride this out. Who knows? Maybe we’ll see an opening.”

Sadness – Don’t read this if you’re not in a bad mood and are susceptible to bad moods. If you are in a bad mood try reading it like you’re a drill instructor shouting at a new recruit.

It’s like when you’re a kid and you have your birthday at one of those pizza place/indoor amusement park places. Since it’s your birthday, you get to go in that miniature wind tunnel that has all of those tickets that you would normally have to play games to win, and you want those tickets so that you can trade them for one of those sweet, sweet prizes they have in displayed in the glass cases nearby.  However, when you step in somebody throws a bucket of warm sticky wax at you, and at first you’re upset but then you’re thinking, “Oh, this will help me win more prizes.” The wind starts moving through the contraption, and you’re excited at first until you realize it’s not tickets being blown at you. It’s sadness. Piles and piles of sadness sticking to you, and you’re powerless. Any attempt you make to flail opens up your body so the sadness can stick to you in new ways. It finally stops, but any attempt made to remove the sadness from your body causes you too much pain so you end up looking like Steve Carell in 40 year old virgin with patches here and there but mostly covered with sadness. That’s h.g.u.n.g. sadness. PEACE.

Advertisements
Categories: Uncategorized
  1. No comments yet.
  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: