Mice Invading Holland

Mice Invading Holland

Children’s cartoons might have convinced some of you that they are nothing more then harmless, cute little balls of fluff and whiskers but I am hear to tell you the true dangers of mice.

Mice Invading Holland

Amsterdam has always had a mouse problem. The fluffy little creatures have invaded almost every building through out the city. If you see one mouse there are ten. If you see ten there are one hundred. If you see one hundred there are one thousand. During my time in Amsterdam I have seen a lot of mice and I have been doing the math.

We are out numbered. If the little squeakers become aware of their superior numbers and develop even basic organizational skills we are screwed. They could easily over throw the human inhabitants of this city and no feline or Pide-Piper would be able to save us from the hordes of cheese hungry mice.

First they would take the cities supply of cheese by force leaving the Dutch café industry crippled with out any dairy products to put in their toasties. With the Dutch morale at an all time low due to the lack of cheese based snacks the mice would have no problem driving us out into the surrounding towns in search of a bit of Edam or Gouda. Amsterdam would become a city of mice where no human or cat would dare set foot.

But what next you ask. What would these diabolical mice do with the entire city to themselves? Well I will tell you. They will start to live the lives we left behind. They will start to fill in the gaps left behind by the human inhabitants of Amsterdam.

Dam Square would become filled with living mice statues and other street performers trying to earn money from the tourist mice that come to visit the city. Teenage mice would spend their days in little mice coffee shops; smoking mice sized portions of weed, forgetting their names and squeaking ‘dude’ a lot.

Mice taxi drivers would ignore traffic lights and over charge drunk mice returning from a late night out at the DJ Mouse night club. Bicycle mice would be every where. There would be at least one eccentric mouse who wears bright yellow clogs as every day foot wear when going to the Albert-Mouse super market.

Girl mice would dress in bikinis and pose behind glass windows, bathed in the neon light of the red light district as groups of guy mice on a stag weekend stand outside and squeak dares at one another to go and talk to them.

Sintermouse would bring presents to the good little boy and girl mice in December while Zwarte Mouse will drag the bad ones back to Spain in a sack (and yet again spark the yearly debate about possible racism in the tradition towards African Dutch mice).

Worst of all; this blog would no longer be written by myself. That is right, instead of Stuart B it would be Stuart Little.

Heed my warning.

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