They sneak aboard at every harbor (or harbour if you're Canadian), constricting through tiny gaps you could never believe anyone could contort themselves through.  The Cap’n tries to do the right things.  He sets the crew about swabbing the decks, cleaning, sorting the riggings, stowing and storing but the squeaking little fuckers find the tiniest gaps and exploit them.

They sneak and they squeak and when they gnaw through the burlap to the corn, they crow about how they earned theirs and to hell with everyone else.  Stealing and earning are synonyms to the hateful little buggers.

The crew redoubles their efforts as they set about battening down hatches, securing and lashing, sealing the tiniest of gaps, sweeping away the feces that betrays the little vermin.  They run from the crew, run from the light, hide in places inconceivable until dusk ushers their friend, the darkness, to hearken them out of hiding.  Then they scurry out to find nonexistent gaps to exploit.

We don’t have to contribute, they cry when confronted.  We are vermin and therefore entitled.  We discovered this corn they cry through full mouths and distended bellies.  We invested in the sniffing and gnawing, we did the burlap chewing, so "let em eat jellybeans or let em cake.  Let em eat shit or what ever it takes."  Why do poor folks always want something for nothing?

The Cap’n ponders his dilemma.  Bilge rats have been a problem since long before Cap’n became a seafarin’ man.  They have been a problem for as long as there have been seafarin’ men.  You offload your booty, you disinfect and fumigate, you fill the cracks with bilge-rat poison but you can never win the battle.

They tell their lies and dimwitted crew begin to believe. 

God, guns and gold, the vermin shout to Fermin and his simple mind feels the outrage that he’s supposed to feel, though he doesn’t quite know why.  Who needs thoughts when they have feelings?

Cap’n knows not what to do.  Truth and clean living are no defense against the little bastards.  Cap’n knows that poor simple Matey Fermin needs surgery to cure his injured simple brain but the vermin told him Cap’n wants to kill him, not cure him, and he believes.  It’s oh so simple for simple Fermin to believe.  Cap’s shares ‘is bounty with ‘is crew.  Dontcha know that makes him a communist?!

Fire! Cap’n thinks.  Fire be the only way.  Take ‘er out on the high seas and set ‘er ablaze.  What doesn’t go up in smoke goes straight to Davy Jones’ locker.  Then start again, one freshly cured plank at a time and not a bilge rat in sight.

Cap’n smiles at the thought but he knows it won’t work.  Bilge rats always find you again.  Still, the visual of vermin diving into the high seas lulls Cap’n off to sleep with a smile on his face. 

Maybe it’s overkill... maybe.  But we can't make it here anymore.