Look away! It's hideous!
No, it's not a photo of Cosmo Kramer with a face like a catcher's mitt after smoking non-stop in his apartment with his smoker's club. Perhaps sitting on his levels, or his Merv Griffin Show set, next to his hot tub, waiting for the Japanese tourists sleeping in the drawers of his Farbman dresser to wake up, so he can feed them a meal he is planning to prepare in his shower.
Nope. This is something entirely different. Don't look unless you have a strong stomach. This sight could raise the gorge of the dead. I won't show it until the very end. But if your computer likes to pop up pictures at the top of the post, you may have already seen it.
"Oh, look. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is showing us the coat of a rare appaloosa pony. Or the fur of a dalmation she had made into a cape. Or some abstract art that Farmer H brought home from the auction to set next to Thomas Jefferson Sitting On a Boot Taking a Crap."
No. No. And no. That, my friends, is the detritus that collected in the cracks of my optical mouse. EEEWWW! I agree. I couldn't get that little booger apart, so I had to take a toothpick and scrape it. The removal of gunk from around the scrolly wheel was exceptionally taxing.
Looks like dust bunnies don't spring full-grown from underneath the head of the bed. They have humble beginnings in mouse cracks. You'd think Mrs. Hillbilly Mom was molting. Shedding her skin cells like an overgrown snake. Living in an unchinked shed in 1930s Oklahoma. Computing from under a saltine-snacking toddler's high chair.
When Mrs. HM worked in Lower Basementia, she would routinely take apart her work mouse and clean it. In fact, all the faculty did, and in the computer labs, too. And once, some ne'er-do-wells got caught with mouse balls in their pants. Let the record show they were NOT just happy to see the principal. But this newfangled mouse has no way to open it. Short of prying pieces off and looking for screws.
I think it's time for a new mouse.