I will never, for the life of me, understand the psychology of the rat.
Those who know me well will not need this distinction, but here it is for the cheap seats: I am not talking about the verminous rodents who inhabit walls and sewers and recent children's movies, and who (this next bit is especially for Erin) I'm sure are more noble and friendly and pleasant than my personal predilections would indicate. Indeed, perhaps they are as superior to humans in some attributes as Eddie Vedder makes them out to be, and don't deserve to have their name flung about and attached to loose-lipped motherfuckers who can't keep their mouths shut and who insist upon flapping their gums to third parties about shit that's none of their business. There's very little that upsets me more than a fucking rat. Even when getting useful information from one, I am standing there thinking, "You're a fucking rat. What are you telling people about me when I'm not around, you chatty bitch-rat?"
Say you're watching a movie about spies. And the head spy guy finds out some information about the bad guys and he passes it along, resulting in the overthrow of the baddies, and the subsequent saving of the day. We watch the end of the film together, and you think, "..." As I am enjoying the escape of the spy guy and his attractive companion in her suggestively ripped garments (or better yet, some black panties and a man's dress shirt) across the water on Ski-Doos while the island fortress of unmatched evil explodes and boils away into the Pacific in the background, I'm still thinking: "That guy's a fucking rat. You couldn't trust him - better run while you can, sweetheart! Slick will tell on you first chance he gets, due to his innate ratness." The need of some people to spill everything they know about other people's business just bugs the shit out of me. Is life a beauty salon? Am I in curlers under a dryer next to you watching people walk by on Main? Are we BFFs? No? THEN SHUT THE FUCK UP, RIGHT NOW!! It's like some kind of diseased short-bus holdover from school: I can become important to some random asshole for a split-second of my life if I spill my guts about some other random asshole. I know shit - I gotta prove I know it! Gah! Gotta say and tell stuff!
So. This makes me crazy, and I'm going to start stapling lips together if people can't clip their strings and mind their own fucking business. You're on notice, world. Loose lips and all that.