The End

The Supreme Aglet here. Yes it is me. Please stay in your chair and do not bow down or otherwise interrupt me with your expressions of love and adoration.

I have something very important to tell you; but before I do, I want to thank Ballio for taking care of things, Dr. Gupta for making this message possible, and all of you for your concern.

Although I've been able to correct the problem that left my previous transmission partially encrypted, I'm afraid I've just about run out of time to correct the problem with the reverse polarity module prior to the closing of the temporal pathway.

What this means, my fellow Agleteers, is that I will not be able to speak with you again until you yourselves arrive in your own distant future. Some of you will not live long enough to see that day, and the rest of you will be well advanced in years before you hear from me again.

While this news is good for neither of us, I can tell you with certainty that the future in which you and/or your children will someday live is a wonderful place, full of promise, full of adventure, and full of wonder.

Since you now know this, I would encourage you to get an early start. Begin now, making your own way and boldly starting down that path. You can plot your course and head that direction even without knowing what will come next, with full confidence.

Fix your eyes on the bright place in the distance where you will make your destination, and deal with challenges as they come. You cannot know them all before you begin, but you can trust your abilities to deal with anything that will confront you. When things get difficult, you will find the help you need from the loved ones next to you and the power above you.

I know your future just as plainly as you know your past. Agleteeria, the world of the Supreme Aglet, is your destiny, and you will surely reach it. When you get here, you'll find that the world is once again and will always be in perfect balance.

THE END

Letter from Agleteeria

Ballio here.

Well, it was a pretty eventful weekend. Having made contact with the Supreme Aglet, Dr. Gupta has been working around the clock to see if he can establish some sort of regular communication and find out exactly where TSA is and how to get him back.

Or, more accurately, trying to find out when he is. What we've been able to figure on so far is that all of the gadgetry and computer programming is all some sort of time travel device.

...yes, a time travel device. I know what you're thinking: that scene in Napolean Dynamite. But don't laugh--apparently, the thing works. At least well enough to have transported TSA somewhere, although I don't know if we can get him back.

Late last night for a few short minutes, something kept coming through to one of the computer screens. At first, it was completely garbled and we couldn't make heads or tails of it. Finally, just before the connection died, we got the following partially garbled message:

Dr. Gupta, please read%?ssage and forward it t%Ballio and my?eaders. I'm not sur%?able to get anoth%? one off.

I am writin%?world that exists afte%?last Agleteer becomes an Agleteer%?eautiful world, now known as "Agleteeria". I cannot po%?ibly convey how beautiful and wonderf%?this world is.

%?of the first places%?ent to upon arriving%?leteeria was the local McDonald's, and I %?pleased. Big Macs%?fat-free and low-carb in Agleteeria, %?animals who provided their meat are reconstituted after the fact so that all vegetarians%?happy%?not setting SUV's on fire.

Speaking of SUV's, they%?bundant in Agleteeria, and they run on a single cup of water for a year's use. As one might expe%?also have no wheels and emit no noxious gasses and produce no other harmful%?issions.

Agleteeria %?not without its misfits. Upo%?rriving, I went to a library (all books float%?air in Agleteeria--no more need for those pesky shelves) to use a computer (they are slightly larger and narrower%?toothpick in the future) so that I could read The Supreme Ag%?. While surfing the Web (in virtual reali%?3D), I ran across a knock-off %?The Supreme Aglet called "The Very Good Aglet".

After some investigation, it turns out%?this Web site was created by some subersive French guy who, at one point, had taken offense to one of my admonitions, (something about using%?word "Soccer" without regard for the fact that Europeans refe%?the sport, incorrectly of course, as "Football%

But apart from that, people were generally kind an%?ongenial. I was particularly appreciative of all the statues th%?built in my honor.

I am left wit%?one sorrowful thought: that I may never see you or any%?aithful Agleteers again. I'm afraid that the reverse polarity module, which I had put in place to retur%?to your present, is not functionin%?

...and that's it. Dr. Gupta hasn't given up and he's still got a brave smile on his face, but I can tell that the news isn't good. I'm glad TSA is okay, but considering that he might be gone forever, I have a twisted feeling in my stomach.

If we get any more messages from TSA, I'll post them here.

Signed,
Ballio

Day 5: The Day We Made Contact

There were astonished cries of "It's him! It's him!", and the cheers went up. I was there when it happened!

But the question remains: where is he? Where?!

Dr. Gupta is going to catch up on some well-deserved rest this weekend, but let's continue to hope for TSA's safe and quick return. At least we know he's okay, wherever he is. Hopefully, we'll know more on Monday.

Signed,
Ballio

Day 4: "All Hope is Lost"

Ballio here.

I assume you've heard the news by now, as it's all over the headlines, but if you haven't, you can listen to Chuck Weaver's report here.

I have no appetite. I can't think. I can't funtion. During those moments when I'm feeling pessimistic, it makes me ill to think about what might have happened to TSA.

Since Dr. Gupta's grim announcement, I've called him to get more detail on what he's found out--any little ray of hope I can grasp at. The poor guy has been going non-stop and says he won't give up trying to reverse-engineer TSA's computer programs and gadgetry to figure out what he was up to with all that stuff, the theory being that the last thing he was doing before he disappeared was tinkering with his equipment. Gupta says he'll keep working at it either until he figures it out or drops dead. What a trooper.

"All hope is lost": those are not the words I wanted to hear. TSA, if you're out there, give us a sign. Help us out.

Signed,
Ballio

Day 3: TSA Update/Agleteer Dave's Slide Room

Ballio here.

I don't have any news today on the disappearance of TSA, except to say that a research team, headed by the renowned Dr. David Gupta, will be combing through the Supreme Aglet's lair tomorrow searching for clues.

Be sure to tune in your radio (or visit here) to hear Chuck Weaver's live coverage of Dr. Gupta's progress. And keep your fingers crossed.

If TSA is out there reading this somehow, I know he'd want us to press on during this difficult time. So with that said, I'm going to turn over today's Supreme Aglet post to Agleteer Dave, who kindly provided the following in answer to TSA's first memory assignment:

My earliest memory is around 1968, I was born in 1967 so logic tells me that I was about a year old. I’ve also verified this story with my mother so all facts are true, only the names have been withheld to protect the innocent.

As a child my father was in the military, an officer in the USAF, and as an officer he and my mother would attend various military events. On these occasions the children (myself being one) would be dropped off at a military base "day care" of sorts.

There was a room that is very predominant in my mind and is the center piece of this memory. We’ll call it the "slide room".

The slide room was just that, a large room with a concert floor and a large slide standing in the middle. This was no indoor slide – this slide was the big metal kind you would see outside in a playground of the 60’s. It had metal steps with hand rails and a long, straight piece of shiny metal with short sides that made up the "sliding" portion. (These kind of slides would be banned nowadays to "protect" children from injury and to eliminate an influx of "got a boo-boo" law suits.) I also seem to recall hoppity-hops scattered about the room, but the slide was the thing that impressed me the most.

My older sister, who also remembers the slide room, recently made friends with someone many years and states removed from the slide room. They were talking about the military both having that in common with parents. It just so happens that this woman had been stationed at the same base as a child and she also remembers the slide room. As wee tots they may have actually played in the slide room together.

I don’t know what it was about that slide room but for some reason it left a memory burned into the psyche of any child that encountered it. Maybe when you’re only 2 to 3 feet tall it just seems so impressive to enter a room with nothing but a slide in the middle.

With all that, the funny thing is...I can’t ever remember going down the slide. Go figure.

Wow. Everyone seems to remember the slide room. I remember the slide room and I wasn't even there! (I hope that's funny. I'm trying to write stuff that TSA would write in response to the letter above. I'm not funny, huh.)

Signed,
Ballio

Day 2: More Witnesses to TSA's Disappearance

Ballio here. I wanted to thank you guys for sending in your tips. Really, even if they're just minor observations, every little bit helps.

One of the tips sent in by Agleteers has already led to finding more witnesses to TSA's disappearance, (listen to Chuck Weaver's latest report here).

I'm going to try my best to maintain a "business as usual" atmosphere, which I think will help us all deal with this emotionally. Tomorrow, barring any major developments, I'm going to press on with TSA's regular Fan Mail featurette, as some of you have submitted your "first memory" assignments.

I wonder where he is right at this moment. I hope he's ok.

Signed,
Ballio

The Supreme Aglet Disappears!

Ballio here. Perhaps you've heard the news, (listen to Chuck Weaver's report here).

I'm freaked out. I first realized something was wrong when TSA (his friends call him "TSA") didn't show up for our monthly Bunco last night. He's never missed one, and even if he was going to bail on us, he would have at least called, e-mailed, or sent a singing telegram like he did last Tuesday when he couldn't make it for Canasta.

This is not good. PLEASE keep an eye out for anything that will help us find out what happened to the Supreme Aglet. If you have any tips, please e-mail them to me at iamballio@hotmail.com and I will make sure they get to the proper authorities asap.

I'll keep you posted.

Signed,
Ballio

Weekend Edition: Sipping Formula, Circa 1969

A first memory is not something that you stop and think about in order to recall. Rather, it is recalled when some external event triggers that memory, and then you have the presence of mind to file it away under "my first memory". Perhaps you've already filed away your cherished first memory, or maybe you need to sit in a chair all weekend thinking about licked vs. adhesive stamps until something jogs that memory.

...which brings us to the thought to ponder for the weekend:

What is your first memory?

The Supreme Aglet wishes to solicit his readers for their first memories, and then to choose from among the most interesting responses for future Fan Mail Friday on Tuesday, Wednesday Editions.

My first memory was one that caused some distress. I'd say I was barely two years old (if that), and I remember being in a bed next to my older brother, who I will refer to as Brother Aglet, or BA for short.

At that moment, we were both sipping formula from baby bottles, and after a few sips, he would wave his bottle in the air and loudly repeat over and over "I want more! I want more! I want more!..."

I remember taking all of my cues from BA, doing whatever he was doing, so I would also wave my bottle in the air and start calling out for more whenever he did.

I remember taking special notice of my brother's bottle, which had a 3D clown face on it, while my bottle was plain. This caused some distress, as I badly wanted a bottle like the one he had, but did not know how to express that desire. It also resulted in what was perhaps my first neural connection to the concept of heirarchy, which would later be reinforced frequently at the end of BA's swinging fist.

Nonetheless, the memory is generally a pleasant one. It is in the context of a world in which I was always seemingly cozied up in a bed and pampered by my mom.

Now that I'm bigger, although still less buff than BA, I have ways of side-stepping the heiarchical order that was literally pounded into me during my early years.

For example, I can go out and buy my own baby bottle with a clown face on it. Eat your heart out BA, and the world of the Supreme Aglet is once again in perfect balance.

Speaking of Mud-Slinging

The malaise that has characterized the Essay Contest Presidential Election recalls in me bad memories of the contentious and divisive 2004 election. I had a preference for one of the candidates over the other (Mrs. Supreme Aglet and I proudly cast our ballots fo[Microsoft ODBC - call failed. Please contact the system administrator. @101#]owever, I didn't think either candidate was half bad, and certainly not all that different from each other in the scheme of things. Actually, I really liked the guy I didn't vote for; I just liked him second-best, and the meanies at the poll station only gave me one ballot card.

Of course, there are those who--at election time, or whenever they otherwise have run out of people to blame for their own shortcomings--will refer to one or the other as being "worse than [insert really bad person's name], whose leadership will certainly, undoubtedly, assuredly, without question, mean nothing less than the literal destruction of the United States of America".

Inevitably, the politician in question is either revered or forgotten years after s/he supposedly brought on all that destruction and horrific consequence.

Don't get me wrong; there is no shortage of politicians, past or present, who deserve to be assailed. But realistically, the worst you could say about the majority of candidates who have run for President of the United States (excluding the fringe kooks who purchase live cockroach traps) is that they're political opportunists. Imagine that. A politician being political.

As contentious as the 2004 election was, an audio book I've been enjoying while commuting in my fabulous sports sedan reminds me of several historical references I've picked up over the years in which a presidential election descended into deep division and brought out the freaks, in angry mob form. Many of these elections--and I'm not just talking about Civil War era elections where Americans were unusually urinated at each other--made 2004 look like a love fest.

To wit, in trashing our Presidents and other politicians, people often like to invoke the founding fathers in the context of current issues. "George Washington and Thomas Jefferson must surely be turning over in their graves because of those terrible things that [insert politician's name] is doing".

Bull. For one thing, it's problematic to imply that George Washington and Thomas Jefferson would agree on anything. Washington was a Federalist, Jefferson was a Democratic-Republican (the forerunner to the Democratic party). Or, to put it loosely in modern terms, Washington was politically more akin to a big-government elitist while Jefferson was more akin to a small-government populist. The analogy isn't exactly fitting (Washington was hardly an elitist in the negative sense of that term), but it gives you an idea of how far apart they were in the same sense that Howard Dean and Rush Limbaugh aren't quite soul mates.

"He is a liar and a dictator" may sound like the tripe we heard about George W. Bush last year, but this was said of George Washington (yes, that George Washington) and printed in newspapers bankrolled by Thomas Jefferson.

Or how about, "he fools around with women who work for him"? Democrats should embrace this accusation when hurled at Bill Clinton, as this clearly demonstrates something that President Clinton and President Jefferson had in common, (yes, that President Jefferson).

Heck, Presidents who in their day were impugned as war-mongering buffoons (sound familiar?) usually end up in the tiny ranks of Unofficial President All-Stars. Abraham Lincoln comes to mind as one who was regarded by many of his contemporaries as an uncultured backwoodsman, a "gorilla" and a "baboon", (yes, that Abraham Lincoln).

John Adams and FDR also fall into the category of accused war-mongering incompetents. Of course, we now take it for granted that Roosevelt's willingness to take on Germany after being attacked by Japan led to the end of Nazism before it became a global threat. John Adams never even went to war.

I'm old enough to remember how the world literally wasn't going to survive the 1980's because of the war-mongering buffoon who occupied the White House during that stretch. Doomsday scenarios resulting from superpower arrogance were favorite Hollywood themes. The six o-clock news was rife with images of protests in Europe, complete with flag-burning and all kinds of expressions which indicated that maybe, just maybe, they don't like us anymore.

Luckily, I escaped the nuclear bombs. But I lost all those really tight European friends.

Now, this guy Reagan--who I remember vividly as having been accused of being Hitler reincarnate--is today oft-quoted by politicians who wish to advance their career, even Democratic politicians (Reagan was a Republican). JFK, a Democrat and quasi-Bill Clinton of his day, is often a favorite quote medium for Republican politicians whenever s/he wants to score political points, (as I just did by referring to both genders).

Oh my, look at the time. I have to hurry to work and get a report done before certain destruction befalls our nation, and the world of the Supreme Aglet is once again in perfect balance.

Fan Mail Friday on Tuesday, Wednesday Edition

Having moved the Fan Mail Friday on Tuesday featurette to Wednesday, The Supreme Aglet submits the following missive from one of his foreign readers:

Supreme Aglet, very wise you are. Join me you must, for a Jedi you must be, and fulfill your destiny you must.

Yoda

Agleteer Yoda,

Backwards talk I can also. Amazing it's the human brain how could understand saying what I am though even backward doing it. Example for, readers mine probably are following along with problem little. Perhaps more even interesting is that choose they keep to reading though sense even this makes none, yet brains ours is stimulated this by, we hence reading keep.

Long how reading keep will they? Far so, real point none have I made. Have they don't better anything to do read this than? Work they late aren't for? Go feed to need the dog don't they?

Mackerel Holy! The this is paragraph third nonsense this of, and reading they are still. Loser what a!

Address your concern to regarding Jedi joining must I, all say that I have that is I full have my hands with saving planet mine. Example for, yesterday had to my planet save from an asteroid oncoming, disposed of which I did my bare hands with, (actually, gloves I wore).

So, luck good on the Empire defeating, but pass I'll have to on your offer, and world the Supreme Aglet in perfect balance once again is.

Essay Contest Presidential Debate

As I feared, the mud-slinging has begun.

I am just about at my wit's end with this situation. I have spent a lot of time personally with the primary agitators in this conflict with little progress. I have no further recourse but to allow it to play out.

So be it: let the campaigning begin, let the mud fly, let the rain shower, let the rose flower, and the world of the Supreme Aglet is once again in perfect balance.

The Supreme Aglet Makes Program Changes

The Supreme Aglet would like to announce some changes in programming:

• The Weekend Edition will be moved from Saturday to Friday, providing one extra day for Agleteers to ponder the thought for the weekend, and perhaps give you enough time to alter your weekend plans based on some profound thing I said


• The Fan Mail Friday featurette is now moved permanently to the Fan Mail Friday on Tuesday featurette slot


• The Fan Mail Friday on Tuesday featurette will be moved to Wednesday, and renamed to Fan Mail Friday on Tuesday, Wednesday Edition


• The Wednesday Essay Contest, currently interrupted by the Wednesday Essay Contest controversy, will be moved to Tuesday unless there is no resolution to the controversy, in which case the Wednesday Essay Contest featurette will be indefinitely postponed

These changes are effective immediately. Oh yeah, and the world of the Supreme Aglet is once again in perfect balance.

Weekend Edition: Anatomy of a (Dead) Pest

The Supreme Aglet will continue to combine the Saturday and Sunday editions of The Supreme Aglet into a single weekend edition with a weekend-filling thought to ponder.

The thought for this week:

Why are there such things as live rat traps?

The recent tangle with rats in my garage, along with the various strategies employed to ending their presence there, has given me pause to think about the whole concept of live rat traps.

Rats are pests, just like cockroaches are pests. Rats are arguably more dangerous than other kinds of pests because of the diseases they can carry, the fact that they have teeth, and because of the damage they can cause to your property.

So why live rat traps? If you're of the persuasion that prefers to address a rat problem by procuring live traps, then would you just as easily purchase live cockroach traps if such things existed?

(A quick Google search reveals that you can actually buy such a thing; but I'm talking about the existence of goods outside of those intended to profit from fringe kooks. If I have offended anyone who actually does buy live cockroach traps, then I apologize for you being a kook.)

Walk in to a Home Depot, ask one of the friendly folks where they keep their humane cockroach traps, and you'll likely be directed to the aisle with the flying pigs.

The notion of catch-and-release cockroach traps is ludicrous, yet the same Home Depot store will likely stock more catch-and-release rat and mouse traps than boxes of rat poison.

Why do you suppose this is? Would it be different if cockroaches were cute? Perhaps if Hollywood would just give us a movie like An American Tail--replacing the cute little rodent with a cuddly little cockroach who gets separated from his family--maybe then the idea of live cockroach traps will make its way from the kook fringe to the mainstream. Yeah, there's some money there.

Fellow Agleteers, I'm as much an animal lover as the next guy, but sparing the life of a rat is not a fair exchange for the prospect of bringing disease into my house or damaging my property. Especially my cars. Kill the rats. Save my cars. Hug a cockroach, and the world of the Supreme Aglet is once again in perfect balance.

Today is Fan Mail Friday #12

If you are not familiar with our "Fan Mail Friday #n" featurette, please familiarize yourself by reading this entry before proceeding, or your home may be uprooted by the well-preserved mammoth living below your foundation as it suddenly comes to life.

This week's fan mail comes from Agleteer Andy, (The Supreme Aglet will not reveal the full identity of fan mail contributors unless specifically requested):

Like you, I have been distressed by all the controversy that has resulted from the Wednesday Essay contest. I can't sleep, and I've dropped 10 pounds. Please tell me that it will all be over soon.

Buck up, Agleteer Andy, as every cloud has a silver lining, (to coin a phrase). With Summer approaching, you can use this time to continue starving yourself in order to to have a Speedo-friendly figure.

With all the flailing around and wailing that's going on, perhaps all Agleteers should regard the Wednesday Essay Contest controversy as sort of a body-building program--as a means toward unlocking that babe-trapper form inside the otherwise drab and formless frame that passes for your body.

Heck, work on those abs for a bit, throw on some red tights, and you could have that true Supreme Aglet look.

Hang on for a second while I go look in the mirror...Oh yeah. Baby. Mmmm mmmm.

If you're looking for a workout video and fitness program that will encapsulate your tantrums within a productive workout structure, please visit The Supreme Aglet's souvenir Web site. While you're there, remember to pick up a Ballio Stress Ball and a few Perfect Balance(tm) brand frozen dinners to keep you in shape. This will contribute to your fitness and my bank account, and the world of the Supreme Aglet is once again in perfect balance.

A.G.L.E.T.

Today, I shall endeavor to make the word "aglet" even more meaningful by proposing several ways to acronymize the word:

Aglets
Give
Laces an
Easier way to
Tug

Angles are something I learned in
Geometry, although I didn't listen well in class.
Luckily, I have yet to require
Euclid's
Theorems for daily living.

Ants
Get
Less
E-Mail,
Tony.

A
Gold-plated
Llama
Eats no
Tin

Ain't
Gonna
Leave ya'. Gonna love ya' forever and
Ever,
Till the sun don't shine no more.

Awfully
Good
Lentil soup.
Eat some,
Tony.

Anytime you need to
Get in to
Larry's house,
Enter
Through the front door rather than the chimney.

All
Great
Letters must
End,
Tony

And the world of the Supreme AGLet is oncE again in perfecT balance.

The First Fourteen Years

Marriages don't last anymore. The whole concept of marriage seems to have fallen victim to the same sort of cheapening that afflicts a lot of other things.

Marriages were once put together like my 1964 Cadillac Coupe de Ville: solid, dignified, carefully constructed. These days, marriages more closely resemble my 2002 Saturn; they can last forever if you make it a high priority to take good care of them, but they lack the inherent longevity that comes with taking your craft seriously and creating something from the very beginning that is designed to endure unforeseen hardships.

On May 4, 1991, Mrs. Supreme Aglet and I endeavored to create the marital equivalent of a 1964 Cadillac Coupe de Ville. I'm very fortunate and blessed that she was--and is--an unusually skilled engineer. Somehow, this marriage has overcome my serious character flaws and has developed into something that is far, far more than the sum of its parts.

On reflection, it's difficult for me to think of any serious conflict over those fourteen years. I know we've had arguments, and I'm pretty sure I've been angry with my wife just as I have caused her to be angry with me from time to time. But I can honestly say that there has never been one moment of regret for the commitment that was made fourteen years ago today. Not one moment.

I don't know for sure if Mrs. Supreme Aglet can say the same thing; but if she can, then blame me. I can be a real butthole. Likewise, even if the thought ever has crossed her mind, I give her a great deal of credit for not following it to its logical conclusion. Doing so comes with a great deal of societal support, an abundance of choices for an affordable and enthusiastic attorney, and the prospect of finding a more sensitive and caring partner who can properly express himself without putting on his red tights and assuming his blog identity.

This marriage has produced two economy-sized versions of ourselves, (for those who are analogistically challenged, that is a reference to our two children). Despite my misgivings about the prospect of taking on such a difficult, consuming, and often heart-breaking responsibility as rearing children, I can't imagine life without these two little people. (The Supreme Aglet reserves the right to amend the foregoing once the children morph into pot-smoking parent-hating teenagers; but they're perfect right now, and I'm certain that I'll love them no less even after they're properly instructed by Hollywood and the music industry to despise Mrs. Supreme Aglet and me.)

To celebrate the occasion, I will be taking Mrs. Supreme Aglet out for a quiet dinner away from the responsibilities of home and mother. Okay, maybe I'll also pick up a card--but what else could she want? I wrote this nice blog piece, didn't I?

Happy 14th anniversary, Mrs. Supreme Aglet, and the world of the Supreme Aglet is once again in perfect balance.

Today is Fan Mail Friday on Tuesday #10

Having extended our "Fan Mail Friday #n" featurette to Tuesday, The Supreme Aglet enthusiastically submits this beautifully thought-out letter from Agleteer David:

Due to your superior intellect and view on things, I was wondering your opinion on the following: Why do the sausage links in an Aunt Jemima Great Starts breakfast look like "dried turds"? I’ve never encountered this phenomenon with any other breakfast meat but with the Aunt Jemima meat--the appearance is so close to that of "dried turds" that I hesitate to eat it. Can you explain this?

Agleteer David, I feel compelled to admit that I replaced your Aunt Jemima Great Starts breakfast package contents with dried bird droppings. I don't know what drove me to do this, as you are a good friend and faithful Agleteer; but I am truly sorry, and hope you enjoyed them anyway.

If it's any consolation, I sent a Sun-Maid Raisins box full of rabbit pellets to Richard T. from Verizon, and the world of the Supreme Aglet is once again in perfect balance.

Die Rat! Die!

After three weeks in a row of sweeping out rat crap, I'm done with the humane approach of trying to capture the rodent alive and send it on its merry way to the neighbor's house. Today, a rat will die.

The final straw occurred after spending an entire Sunday trying to draw the rat into a cardboard box, only to watch my plan crumble at the very moment of triumph.

The key to capturing the booger was to get it back into its home from its daily mission of searching for food and dumping stool all over my garage. As you might recall, it had made its home in the hood of my car, so once I could get the rat back in it, I could lift the hood and effectively trap it inside.

I succeeded in that much, having drawn the rat back into the hood and trapping it within. The only way out of the hood was through the end of it facing the front of the car; and with the hood open, there was no way the rat would attempt to crawl out and fall to its death or risk severe injury. Rats are very risk-averse, which is why you don't see them bungee-jumping.

Using the ingenuity that I possess in spades, I grabbed a cardboard box full of car wash towels and removed its contents. I then ran inside to grab a dollup of peanut butter, which I placed on one of the box flaps. I placed the box in the car's engine compartment just under the opening in the hood representing the rat's only escape route. I lowered the hood on top of the box and raised the peanut-buttered flap so that it looked like a surface area upon which the rat could safely walk onto.

I fastened a bent paper clip from the corner of the flap to a small opening in the hood, which kept the flap up close to the exit hole, but held it loosely enough so that any weight placed upon it would cause the flap to collapse.

I went back into the house for a beverage and to watch SpongeBob. Afterward, I thought I'd go check on my trap to see if had ceased being rat-challenged. Upon stepping into the garage, I discovered that the trap was in progress at that very moment.

Yes, the timing was perfect! I stood there and watched the rat crawl out of the hood and onto the box flap with the peanut butter on it. He stopped to glare at me from across the garage midway through his journey out of the hole, as if to say, "hey, I found some peanut butter and I'm gonna eat it; what are you gonna do 'bout it?"

Finally, the full weight of the animal was on the flap--BAMMO! It fell right into the box. BWA-HA-HA-HAA!

It was a moment of severe excitement for me. I had lived the whole day--if not the previous three weeks--for that very moment, and reveled in my achievement. I ran back in the house and called for Mrs. Supreme Aglet, who promptly met me back in the garage to observe our prisoner in its menagerie.

Of course, the combination of curiosity and the perceived award of being able to see the animal up close and appreciate how cute and cuddly it was bound to be drove Mrs. Supreme Aglet straight to the box in which the rat was captured. With a warm smile on her face, she peered inside to look at the little darling. Unfortunately, it was bigger than she imagined, and she reflexively pushed the box away as she backed off from it.

This caused the box to tumble part-way into an open area of the engine compartment, leaving it tipped just enough to allow the rat to make it's way out. I ran to right the box, but the rat jumped out just as I grabbed the box and untilted it. The little creep jumped back into the engine compartment, once again becoming impossible to find.

After a day and a half of obsessively chasing the little snot, not to mention three wasted weekends clearing out our sizable garage and sweeping out rat poop, it was time to exercise my advantage of being at the top of the food chain and use my superior intellect to defeat the rodent. I'm all for giving an animal a sporting chance, but this one really ticked me off. The sentence: death by rat poison.

So, I have done it. For her punishment in aiding and abetting the escape of my prize, Mrs. Supreme Aglet was sentenced to the nearest Home Depot to fetch some rat poison. She kindly completed this task, I have since placed two boxes of the delicious pellets of death in key areas of the garage where the little crapper likes to concentrate his or her stool, (note the use of both genders when referring to a rodent who produces large quantities of stool, indicating the progressive individual that The Supreme Aglet truly is).

Feast, my pretty, for tomorrow you die, and the world of the Supreme Aglet is once again in perfect balance.