You’re so easy.
“largest extant rodent family, indeedthe largest of all mammalian families, encompassing more than 1,383 species of the “true” mice and rats. Two-thirds of all rodent species and genera belong to family Muridae. The members of this family are often collectively called murids, or muroid rodents”
Muridae != Mustelidae.
Muridae = hamsters and mice. A kind of rodent.
Mustelids = weasels. Not rodents.
I leave to your own google. Note: spelling matters.
Easy easy easy.
"In areas with fewer natural predators and large quantities of alfalfa, groundhogs can grow to 80 cm (32 in) and 14 kg (30 lb). "
Well, of course not! That would be like confusing cladistics with taxonomy!
You’re right. Boy, that makes me mad. In fact, you’ve pissed me off so much you’ve made me torture a puppy.
Now look what you’ve done!
Wha?
I know. There goes my reputation. Now you won’t be able to believe everything I say anymore. I’m sorry to let you down, old pal.
Incidentally, if you google “cricetus” you might find why one might speak on behalf of burrowing rodents, and with authority on their nomenclature and membership.
A hamster fetishist. I should have known.
There’s a such thing as liking animals and not taking pleasure in their torture and killing without it being a sexual or religious thing (not going to make any guesses which meaning of fetish you mean). Some of us have out-evolved the “fuck it or kill it” phase.
Then what are you left with? What’s the point?
You beat me to it. Damn.
Fuck it, kill it and then…*then!..*eat it.
Some people can’t even following neon roadsigns to “Getting It.”
(I’ll re-iterate my question from last page - anyone have access to the original? If someone has it in a .doc somewhere, I’d be very grateful for an e-mail! :))
I really believe it was lost with some other classics in the last couple years. It was a giant thread too, so I’d bet nobody has a copy.
Nah…what you’ve got to do is force one captive to brutally murder his own family members under the threat that they’ll be done to death by even more depraved torture if he refuses, and then release the mentally shattered wreck, still stained with the ichor of his own flesh and blood, back to his fellows. Repeat as neccesary.
P.S.—Don’t bother taking groundhog prisoners out to force them to dig their own graves. This tends to backfire, badly.
Amongst all the thread-shitting and PETAthetic whining, no one noticed my reference to the second-most awesomest thread of the past 6 years. Thanks, Mr. hamster lover - or should I call you (rips mask off of cricetus) Richard Gere?!?!? :dubious:
So I’ll say it clearly, and in no uncertain terms: Scylla, what you need to rid yourself of these evil bastard rodents once and for all is a 1920s style death ray.
Have you daughters? As well as a wife? Could be another tragic case of testicular defenestration. That’s right, right out the window.
Like this cousin of mine, man’s man, Marine Corps, always seemed to work the conversation around to how tough he was, you know the type. Couldn’t wait for whatever season so he could kill whatever that season was. Damn good shot, too, saw him plug a sparrow with a .30-.30, just to show us he could.
Well, then he got married, which was a pretty good idea, over all, kind of sanded off some of the sharp edges. I could even drink with him some, discuss our…differing viewpoints…for as much as twenty, thirty minutes before he’d casually mention how easily he could maim me. An improvement.
But then came children, three of them, all daughters. The collective influence gradually just wore him down. We go fishing, he’d use lures, couldn’t deal with live bait. Started to share his feelings. Verbally, I mean. We go out to the deer lease, he couldn’t hit a thing, always seem to just barely miss. Couldn’t shoot a deer if he was close enough to kick him in the ass.
Got four daughters now, showers at the Y, pees outside on a tree, doesn’t remember what his bathroom looks like inside.
'Course, I thought I heard tell you were married, but this only applies to men with daughters and wives, so this may not have any bearing at all. Gotta be pretty well outnumbered for the creeping wussification effect to set in. And even if true, there’s no real cure anyway. Forget I mentioned it.
Don’t forget, these critters messed with Scylla’s car. He’s obligated to blast the furry little pests into oblivion.
Big deal - my mom killed a sparrow with a slingshot when she was a Saskatchewan farm girl.
(Of course, she didn’t actually mean to. 
)