So, when Mike got home from work, my dad came back over to help search for the snake. They tilted the washing machine to its side and put a mirror under it to try and find him. Apparently, tilting the washer tumbled the snake into the tub. So, after a long, torturous day of not knowing whether or not the guy would be found, alas, he was found. My dad carried him out on the end of his hoe to the road.
After an entire day of him torturing me, he deserved nothing short of the death penatly, of course.
When it was all over, Mike asked me what I had named him. I told him anything that tortures me like that all day and sends me into such panic does not deserve a name.
Here is the ill-fated little punk just moments before his death:
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