Rat Mental Health Plummets Since The Dawn Of Modern Psychology

There once was a time where each rat was free to live its own life. Eat shit out of a trash bin! Invite your friends to some poor schmucks house to rip that fucker to shreds! Feel the thrill of a hawk swooping overhead…

But times have changed. Life just isn’t giving them the same thrill it used to. We sat down with Custer the Anthropomorphic Rat to talk about this.

Custer was offered a job by a big name pharmaceutical company, and the deal was simply too good to pass up. Free housing, free food, a social living environment. It was really all he could dream of. Sure, the work was rough, but the benefits were unbeatable. Custer happily applied to the “Test Subject” position, but somewhere along the line his feelings changed.

“Man, we used to feel alive,” he said, chuckling as he sipped his beer. The empty bottle would later be added to the pile of discarded drinks next to his armchair. “Yeah…” he said, scratching his beard while gazing wistfully off into the distance. “We used to be out in the streets, I mean - we had no clue when our next meal would be! It was a big deal, you know, finding a bit of chicken someone left out. Exciting stuff. Now I have chicken, gee, whenever I want it. Could eat chicken every day if I wanted.”

He talked us through the experience of transitioning into the modern rat world. “I got a job now. Don’t ever gotta worry about food, free housing, lotsa buddies around me. It’s clean, too. Better in every way really. Just doesn’t make sense why we’re… I don’t know. Just makes you think, everything’s getting handed to us, what's the point of it all?”

His demeanor changed. He looked agitated, as if he was realizing he’d been being wronged very badly for a very long time. “I mean, we keep working for these guys, and we live a cushy life but we have to abide by their rules! Their laws! We’ve lost ourselves in the process!

At this point, the various non-anthropomorphic rats around him began to squeak in unison, clearly moved by his speech. Custer began to get emotional, sitting up from his armchair.

“We’re not just cogs in the machine!” he howled, his voice rife with anguish. “Our bosses don’t give a damn about us! About who we are! I want to feel alive again! I wanna feel the kiss of the cold wind against my fur! The texture of old dirt underneath my paws! I want…”

Custer’s voice trailed as his eyelids began to droop. He passed out onto the floor, the alcohol in his blood subduing him for yet another night. The squeaking began to trail off, and the crowd dispersed. Today would not be the day of the revolution.

The next morning, Custer woke up. He rolled out of bed, put on his coat. He felt hungover. He must’ve had some hell of a night, but he couldn’t really remember what had happened. He stepped out of his dorm and went to work. Another day of getting his rat balls crushed by a giant machine, but at least he’d get some chicken at the end of it.