Epic of a Hampster.

Dude, so. This is the story, of a hampster.

An epic hampster.
An epic, nocturnal hampster.
An epic, noctrunal..marathon-running hampster.
The very hampster which, in fact, lives right outside my door.
My bedroom door.

This hampster runs enough miles on its little wheel thing, that if we could somehow wire it to a generator, it would power the house.

(This is not taking into account the number of hampster we would most likely electrocute before the contraption was correctly wired. Which might be why all good inventors use guiney pigs. But moving on..)

If you were to come over during the day, you would not believe my story. Because during daylight hours, this hampster is the most lethargic being you will ever see. Like a teenager in small rodent form.

But when the lights go out, or more specifically, when I crawl into bed and roll over, fully intending on being asleep in the next few moments at the latest, a starting gun somewhere on a hampster wavelength sounds.

Which leads me to wonder, what the heck do they make those hampster wheels out of? To describe the noise, it resembles the sound your car makes when you are traveling those 20 miles an hour over the speed limit you know you drive on potholey back roads because you just can't stand how long you have to be on them traveling at 35 mph. That hang onto your dentures, hold your glasses on with one hand, your rear view mirror is about to fly off noise.

I have thought of a few different solutions. One, I could remove the wheel. But that involves standing in a dark hallway and reaching into a cage that I can not see, and fishing around for a rodent with unknown sized teeth. All I will say about that is that I have personally seen this hampster stuff an entire pecan into either side of its mouth, so I know there is more than enough room in there for my thumb.

Two, I could clean the cage and accidentally "lose" the hampster, but unfortunately the phrase "man's best friend" has become rather a broad term as applied to pets and the emotional attachments laid upon the rodent by other members of the family would load onto my shoulders a guilt trip not worth the crime.

Like I said, I thought of a few other solutions, involving super glue, duct tape, a hampster treadmill, a few blankets, and, most recently, a shotgun. However, as I lay here writing this, Bilbo (Yes, the hampster is indeed named after a beer guzzling midget that wears the same shoe size as Shaquiel O'Neal'.) is nearing about mile 7.

So, dude.
What would you do, what would you do
If your roommate hampster
Could outrun you?