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The fraternity poker game participants were locked in mortal combat as Tom staggered into the dining room (a.k.a. the poker emporium). Tom was fresh from his self-described part-time job (6 hours of sitting at a nearby tavern letting patrons buy him drinks while he scooped loose change off the bar). He made a few boisterous comments and then disappeared as quickly as he came in. The poker game renewed its heated intensity. Everyone assumed Boston Tom was in dreamland hitting home runs over the Green Monster at his beloved Fenway Park.
About 45 minutes later, a huge glass breaking sound arouse from the kitchen down the hall along with a loud blood curdling chant, "I got him, I got him!" It was Tom celebrating his trophy kill. The poker throng rushed into the kitchen to see an industrial sized jar of peanut butter smashed on the floor. In the gooey brown glass encrusted pile was a dead mouse. The slain rodent had been the bane of the kitchen for several weeks. A problem solved with a truly creative approach.
Tom's mind, purified by massive quantities of Olde Pub, had conjured up an inventive solution. Since a mouse hole was under the cabinets, Tom's plan called for an attractive pile of cheddar cheese to tempt the varmint. Then Tom patiently sat in the corner on the cabinet with the gargantuan jar of peanut butter and waited for the mouse to take the bait.
Few people appreciate the stamina that "hops" must provide. Despite his apparent condition when he came home, Tom sat patiently until the rodent went for the tasty snack. Demonstrating an uncanny sense of dexterity, Tom hit his target "dead on" (pardon the pun). The pledges would clean up the untidy mess tomorrow. It was now time for a tribal celebration with the beverage that made it all possible. Cheers!