Today, health a cat got the feline equivalent of a Brazilian bikini wax.
Instant publishing sure is changing the world.
Tag Archives: animal farm
My gang sign is Whatever
I accidentally shot the building super when I was trying to flush the rats out of the trash room with my shotgun. I think he’ll pull through. He shook his fist at me out of the back of the departing ambulance. Feisty li’l guy. He reminds me of a svelte Wilfred Brimley. The whole debacle recalls how my pappy used to shoot at the neighbor kids with rock salt. That last part is actually true, although the prior truths are merely essential truths.
WTF is wrong with my DVR? It records The Daily Show like 6 times a day. Apparently the problem is something something metadata. The hell with you, fake news. I will make up my own. Haven’t I been doing this all along?
Have discovered surefire way to offend populus at large not already offended just because of parasite existence: casually mention we are planning on using cloth diapers for the parasite. People get righteously bent over a simple statement with no attached evangelizing or explanation. There is an explanation, but I know damn well no one likes those. As Americans, we all know that someone making a different choice means that someone is saying our choice is WRONG. Screw you, France, don’t judge me. You don’t even KNOW me111!!!!11!!
This attitude strikes me as hilarious because other people are not the ones who have to do our laundry/birth at home/invest in mutual funds/any of the other Godless things we get around to doing. Some of these same people have been offended by past follies such as foreign vacations/Mr. H shopping at Banana Republic. “Well. I just don’t know why you’d want to DO that!” I don’t know why a lot of people do a lot of things, but I agree that it is way fun to speculate.
Today in cats: The dead spider from the bathroom that I’ve been ignoring mysteriously disappeared.
Hulk smash windshield, if windshield not already broken
Saab call Hulk to say 43 other mutants get new windshield ahead of Hulk. Hulk say “why I pay payment then?” Saab say “ooga booga boo. Thank you for calling. Expect a Customer Satisfaction Survey in the mail in a few days. We depend on your valuable feedback.” Never buy Saab. Hulk think Hulk learned this in highschool when friend’s Saab missing hood for three months. But husband not listen, say Saab different now. Lies, Saab, lies.
Part 2: A quiz
If you were a cat with the personality of a PTSD-stricken ‘Nam vet, would you prefer to:
a) move to a new place and then spend time cowering in the bathroom while a week of construction takes place
b) have your owners pay rent plus mortgage for another month as you continue to bask next to a heat vent in your current abode
c) stay with your in-laws and their one-year-old grandchild during construction – at least there are piles of old magazines to hide behind
d) be smuggled into a hotel in a backpack for a few days or disguised as child with body hair issue
I bet you’ll say B, but yeah, right. Hulk not made of money. Hence site monetized and valuetized. If reading this drivel ever entertains you, please also enjoy/forgive the messages from sponsors. Otherwise, you may ignore them or read other quality internets content. Hulk commodify dumb life in half-assed manner.
Hulk have migraine. Is tumor?
My snout is cold and wet like that of a basset hound
Current mood: EAT EAT EAT
Current music: something catchy from Aimee Mann about being a sad drunk at christmas
Current terror level: financial, existential
I am talking to a flooring company about doing something to some floors. Their slogan is “A walk in the woods brought home.” For some reason, I’m picturing something involving ticks or lice. I should just gnaw my own floors like a beaver.
Earlier, I was eating leftover lasagna, and I had to ask the question “Hey, are you gonna barf on the bed?” And the answer was a barf. Thanks, cat. Luckily I caught it in a bowl, but this meant I couldn’t finish the lasagna. Problems: we all have them. Why was I eating near a bed anyway? It was the office bed. Don’t you have one? There was a time when I had to sleep under my desk, like peasant. But no more! Sometimes I take calls on the floor, but that’s just because I can.
What else can I do? So far today, I’ve been offended by the internets, and I’ve thought it was Wednesday. The parasite is bumping into walls, so I’m guessing it is offended by the internets as well. Or maybe it just wants to hear “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” again. Several people have expressed trepidation that the name “parasite” might give the little bugger the idea that it’s unwanted. Not unwanted. Shocking, sure. So from now on, I guess I’ll call it Montecore. Name that parasite!
Several days ago in cats
Things get away from some of us. Especially when we open our mouths to ask someone else to open the damn door.
The new phonebooks are here! The new phonebooks are here!
It is a red letter day already here in sunny Vomitsville. After I got back from having the dealer fix the perma-locked car door, physician I decided it was high time I paid the car insurance this month. The things a mind does think. So I headed downstairs to mail it (I hope pressing a blank check to my forehead, malady thinking “car insurance,” and dropping it in the outgoing box works; Zellweger usually handles these things for me, but she is on a zen retreat).
And lo, there on my doorstep was my powerbook, like some kind of bastard foundling. It was so nice of Apple to warn me they were shipping it back from Rancho Relaxo, and so nice of DHL to, you know, ring the doorbell or something, instead of leaving a several thousand dollar piece of equipment with a “signature required” sticker on it out in the open. No harm done, right, Pants? Pants? Are you there? I missed you so. Mommy did so much while you were gone. Mommy got some new pain pills, and mommy even thought about making dinner.
Yes, I did think about making dinner. I went so far as to add wasabi to the mashed potatoes someone else was cooking. This was grueling. I had to lie on the floor until things stopped spinning. The cat came by and considered eating my left eye, but then I moved and ruined everything. So now she sulks, and I sit on the highest chair in the house to avoid her.
If you knew anything about physics
I am so mad, internets. I am mad at people in our goverment for claiming our current situation was not forseeable. Chertoff, you GOON. What, natural disasters that show up on radar need to wear bells around their necks? I am mad at the people who say “this shouldn’t happen here, we aren’t a third world country.” This includes you, Andrew Sullivan. They are right that the hurricane aftermath shouldn’t have escalated the way it did, but since when is it OK for widespread deprivation and turmoil to happen anywhere? The things going on in the Sudan are just fine, because hey, third world country. Those folks knew what they were in for when they elected to exist in a third world country. Of all the lines of justification for why we should not be in this situation, “we’re not a third world nation” is shameful.
I am mad that I don’t have more money to give right now. I am mad at the people who say anyone who didn’t evacuate does not deserve help. I am mad at the people who are yapping about not contributing to relief efforts because they are soooo offended by what Kanye West said. I am mad that people don’t see all the opportunities to help to alleviate poverty in their own communities, and that it takes something this large and terrible to make people even consider helping another living soul. Hey, instead of burning the gas to drive your SUV from New England to New Orleans all by yourself, why not volunteer for the Red Cross here? They can send trained personnel to the gulf, and you can handle the less glamorous things like people getting displaced by fires. Howzabout that.
Yesterday, Mr. H and I drove down to the South Shore to participate in a tango contest. We did our best, but we were trounced by a one-year-old baby with a penciled-on moustache. We demanded a voting recount, but that went over about as well as it did in Ohio. What, we hate America. Of course we’re going to ask. It’s the supreme fucking court, stupid.
Anyhoo, I noticed a wind turbine along the highway, and I wondered why our highways don’t have these things all along them. After all, it’s not like they’re going to ruin the view, and wildlife has already been neatly thwarted. So I started looking into this option, envisioning a future as a wind power magnate, clear of conscience yet still filthy stinking rich. I found this blurb about just such an idea, and then the comments made me mad. Is there anything that doesn’t make me mad today? People arguing about physics = gold. Oh, thermodynamics. Where were you when I needed you? You could have helped me win the tango contest and stopped the cat from throwing up after eating all the cilantro.
And in this panel, Super Toad goes kerplooie
Tuesday in cats: The Flaming Lips sure can clear a room (of cats).
Tuesday in Zellweger: Alert readers pointed me to this. So this is where Zellwegers come from! I am not sure what happened to my Zellweger. I sent her out to return my empties two days ago. She seems distracted lately.
Tuesday in my head: The front part hurts, sort of above my eyes. I think this is called a headache.
Tuesday should be Saturday: because then I’d be done with the worst of my work, and I’d be riding a bike around an island. Maybe this bike would have a sports bottle filled with margaritas. I had better get used to riding a bike for when we run out of oil. And I’ll get a chance to learn to be handy with a u-lock for beating zombies. Come on, apocalypse. My dad has been waiting for you for seventy years. Don’t keep an old man in suspense.
You can’t get a hug from a mug with a slug
Oh internet, I’m in pain. Why does my body fight me so? Do I not ply it with cookies? Do I not sing it show tunes while driving in the car? I give, and I give. This week’s car theater theme is “the wild, wild west.” O! Klahoma. And so much more.
Another installment of Complain and Ye Shall Receive: there was a dead bug on the bathroom floor for a few days. Rather than remove it, I chose to complain about it and leave it there. Choices. We all make them sometimes. I suppose it’s a poor one to stage a contest of will with a dead bug, but there you have it. The bug held ground admirably. Then yesterday I was vindicated because the cat sauntered in and ate it, clean as a whistle.
Today’s contest: me vs. the printer/copier.
Your daddy’s rich, and your mama’s good looking
It’s July, hi, hi. A Boston terrier moved in across the street. I asked him if he knows Goblin Foo. He said “Who doesn’t?”
In addition to the dog, people moved into the new condos as well. I set up a lawn chair out front and loudly rated everyone’s furniture as it came off the moving trucks. One credenza was so unsightly that I tipped it into the river when the movers were taking a break. You’re welcome! It’s called a favor in my country. A mitzvah.
In another act of great magnanimity, I taught a baby to swear. I am here for you.
I don’t understand why my good deeds go unrewarded. The Swedish car assembled in Japan has a big crack in the windshield. Maybe this is God’s way of letting me know I should let the air out of Drunk Upstairs Cheryl’s tires.