Friday, September 16, 2011


Joe McGinniss’ new book slams Sarah Palin, alleging she once used cocaine and had extramarital affairs. Several of the book’s most explosive claims are all over the gossip sites recently. I was able to acquire an advance copy of the book by stealing it, and boy, let me tell you, there’s some nasty stuff in there. Some of the scandals include:

1. Sarah did cocaine for over a decade, often combining it with other drugs.
2. Sarah has had numerous extramarital affairs, with both men and women.
3. There are sex tapes. As in, more than one.
4. Sarah still does marijuana, often along with her daughter Bristol.
5. Sarah embezzled money while she was governor.
6. An enemy of the Palins, allegedly shot by accident while hunting, was really murdered in cold blood by Sarah.
7. Trig is not her child.
8. Bristol is not Todd’s child.
9. Todd Palin has also had affairs, mostly with other men while working on the oil fields.
10. Sarah beats Todd on a regular basis.
11. Sarah was diagnosed as a sociopath as a child, but her parents covered it up.
12. Sarah can’t read.
13. All of the Palin’s children are deformed in some way, due to Todd’s work in the oil industry.
14. When she was president of the PTA at her kid’s school, Sarah embezzled over $100.
15. Sarah beat up Joe McGinnis when he tried to ask her questions.
16. Sarah Palin planned 9/11 in concert with Bin Laden, Cheney, and a shadowy cartel of oil barons.
17. In order to ensure her ascent to power, Sarah has made pacts with several demonic entities, including Azazel, Beelzebub, and Cthulu.
18. If elected president, Sarah plans to usher in the “thousand days of fire” as foretold in the Al-Aqqasa Prophecies.
19. When you see Sarah Palin on TV, she sees you too.
20. Sarah no longer eats human food. Instead she ingests several human souls a day.
21. Sarah’s retinue includes several Succubi and Incubi (her harem), a greater demon (security) and a short man named Bob (media consultant).
22. Sarah Palin’s vagina has teeth. She sharpens them.
23. Sarah Palin paints her toenails in a color called “human entrails”.
24. Sarah is a 21st level acolyte in the priesthood of Ithaqua, the Elder God of Freezing Your Ass Off. Worship of Ithaqua is widespread among Alaskans, Canadians, and Russians. Notably, the Scandinavians do not worship Ithaqua, as they are too consumed by bloodlust to feel the cold.
25. Sarah Palin had sex with Chuck Norris.
26. Sara Palin has “immune to cold” as an innate ability.
27. Sarah Palin can cast “annoy liberals” three times per day at will.
28. Sarah Palin gets +4 to hit and damage with firearms, and has preferred enemy (liberal media).
29. Sarah Palin can cast “Summon Elder Hero: John McCain” once per day.

I have just learned that these facts are NOT from the new book about Sarah Palin. They are instead from another new book by Joe McGinniss, entitled “Bullshit as a Sales Strategy: How to tell lies that everyone knows are lies, but they believe them anyway because they conform to their preconceived ideas.” Wow. It’s almost as if McGinniss knows that he can just say any old thing in his book, and a certain target audience will believe it, regardless of sourcing, fact-checking, etc……as long as it slams Sarah Palin, these idiots will buy it, read it, and mindlessly repeat every half-baked smear job as if it were god’s own truth. I look forward to seeing this book quoted in many, many internet comment threads and shitty blog posts, along with the mandatory assertion that “you’re stupid if you don’t believe this”. Honestly, McGinniss should have just made up random shit and marketed it as a comedy. Hell, maybe I’ll do it. You’ve heard of Chuck Norris Facts? Get ready for Sarah Palin Facts, baby!

Friday, September 9, 2011

The Dating Game

In an attempt to meet more women, I decided to visit an online dating website. Since I fail at life, I decided to get some people to come with me. The format was odd: the site was set up like the old gameshow "the dating game". The bachelorette would ask her suitors a question, which they had to answer in a cool or interesting way. Or something. I didn't really understand it, since I suck with people. Also, this is in no way a complete rip off of an old article.
Bachelor #1: An evil cat, brimming with homicidal rage, who can somehow talk.
Bachelor #2: A major crime boss, who pretends to be a mild-mannered housewife in New England. Currently extra pissed off due to hurricane Irene.
Bachelor #3: A fat, balding, smelly loser with a raging case of Asperger’s and a freakishly large penis.

Q: Tell me how you kiss.
Cat: I don't have lips.
Shannon: Kiss? the electric company out here can KISS MY ASS! A WEEK AND STILL NO POWER?!? WHAT THE FUCK!
Me: um.......using lots of teeth?

Q: If you were a car, what kind would you be?
Cat: Whichever kind kills things.
Shannon: An amphibious car, because THIS PLACE IS STILL FUCKING FLOODED GODDAMMIT!
Me: A garbage truck. I'm full of things people don't need and would rather not have to deal with.... and I spill them everywhere I go.

Q: I spell relief M A S S A G E. How do you spell relief?
Cat: T H E   N E I G H B O R ' S   D O G    D I E D
Shannon: F U C K I N G     E L E C T R I C I T Y
Me: R E L I E F....are you stupid or something?

Q: How did you get over your last broken heart?
Cat: My heart cannot be broken, because there is nothing inside it but the mad inhuman lust to kill.
Shannon: I told the FBI he was a Russian spy. Haven't heard from him since.
Me: ........Oh, crap. I meant to say C O M F Y   C H A I R. Can I change my answer?

Q: Describe your best body part.
Cat: Claws and teeth, baby.
Shannon: I've got to say Dimitri's ears are the jewel of my collection.
Me: My colon. It's the strongest muscle in my body.

Q: What's the first thing you think about in the morning?
Cat: Annoying my human.
Shannon: Lately? Assassinating the CEO of the local power company.
Me: The cat's tail, because it's usually shoved up my nose at dawn.
Cat: lol.

Q: If you had a sound effect, what would it be?
Cat: The wailing of countless damned souls being consumed by the Elder Gods.
Shannon: ....that's pretty good, I'll go with that.
Me: A twelve-second long, 80 decibel fart.

Q: What's your favorite animal?
Cat: Cats, of course.
Shannon: .........(looks at Cat thoughtfully) Cats.
Me: Dogs. AAARGH OW OW OW DAMN! OK! OK! Stop clawing me! It's cats! Cats!

Friday, September 2, 2011

Special Guest Blogger: Muammar Khaddafi

I give thanks to Lucas, the wonderful, wonderful person who has allowed me to use his blog to debunk the misinformation and lies spread by the evil crusader pigs about me. I, Muammar Qaddafi, Supreme Dictator and Ruler for Life of Libya, Keeper of the Holy Bowel Movement, Lord of the Harem of Frighteningly Tall Women, General of the Completely Non-Shitty Armies of Allah, declare that Libya will be victorious against the traitorous rebel dogs. My forces won a mighty victory against them only yesterday, in which three rebels were badly injured by accidentally shooting each other. Ha! This shows the rebel forces’ lack of discipline! My men NEVER shoot each other, primarily because they are out of ammunition. But, still, my men’s discipline is superior! Yesterday, the rebels declared that they had captured the capitol of Libya. Fools! The capitol of Libya is where I say it is! The capital of Libya is hereby Om-Ei-Queefed, a small oasis in the Sahara desert. They will never find it, let alone take it! Soon my elite corps of camel-mounted fanatics will encircle and destroy the enemy! Speaking of the enemy, the Americans, British, and French continue to huddle offshore, refusing to enter Libya except for airstrikes! Cowards! What kind of “man” waits outside his enemies’ range while obliterating his foe with precision airpower? A coward, I say! They are afraid to attack because they know that I, Gaddafi, will soon take the field personally! I will don my battle uniform (made of embroidered silk, very classy) and ride to victory! I am now ready to field questions from the audience.
Q: Is it true that you are sexually obsessed with Condileezza Rice, former secretary of state of the US?
A: Yes! Any virile man would be obsessed as well! By Allah, look at her booty! There is no firmer, tighter ass among any nation’s senior leadership! Except perhaps the Ukraine or Sweden. Next question!
Q: Have you heard reports that one of your daughters has defected to the rebels?
A: Vile lies! None of my daughters would betray me, except perhaps Ahhayia, but I executed her last year. Lies!
Q: Sir, you forces are in retreat, your military is disintegrating, and you are losing control of your nation. Shouldn’t you admit defeat?
A: We are only retreating to lull the enemy into a false sense of security. We will fall back, wait, and then… POUNCE! Just like the desert cat! And like the desert cat, we will feast on our enemies entrails before urinating on their remains and raping their donkeys!
Q: Rebel forces say they have you surrounded –
A: (interrupting) There are no rebels in Libya! Next question.
Q: Are you, by any chance, in Om-Ei-Queefed right now?
A: Yes…….why?
Q: (speaks into watch, pauses)….No reason. (sits down)
[transmission terminated]

Friday, August 26, 2011

Tips for Hurricane Preparedness

Since hurricane Irene is going to hit the Northeast, I thought I'd share some of my expertise as a longtime Florida native and hurricane survivor. No need to thank me.

1. Familiarize yourself with the Saffir-Simpson wind scale, summarized here:
    Category 1: wind, rain, lightning, hail, tornadoes, power outages
    Category 2: tsunamis, cats and dogs living together, mass hysteria
    Category 3: Al-qaeda wishes they could do this much damage
    Category 4: Wrath of God
    Category 5: Apocalypse
2. In the aftermath of a major hurricane, there is frequently a breakdown in law and order. New Yorkers will likely not notice any changes. Other new englanders should arm themselves. guys are into gun control, aren't you? In that case, just give all your worldly possessions and/or anal virginity to the first person who asks.

3. If you are stranded in a disaster area, don't panic. FEMA will come to the rescue just like they did in New Orleans after Katrina.

4. If you are evacuating before the storm arrives, make sure to bid farewell to your home, as you will never see it again.

5. If you live in a low-lying coastal area and are refusing to evacuate, you are about to win a Darwin award. Please leave your address with the national guard so that they can recover your remains.

6. It is advisable to have emergency supplies ready if you are not evacuating. Suggested supplies include several pounds of beef jerky; bottled water; first aid kit consisting of a bottle of aspirin, a piece of gauze, and a rusty razor blade; portable gas powered generator (fuel not included); assortment of knives, axes, or spears to facilitate defense from marauding bands of cannibals; complete set of encyclopedias in order to restart civilization. 

7. Before the hurricane strikes, secure your home from wind damage by parking the aircraft carrier USS George Bush (CVN 77) in front of your home. The carrier's bulk will shield your property from flying debris, and it's nuclear reactors will be useful in case the power goes out.

8. Stay tuned to local news broadcasts to determine how frightened you should be.

9. Many celebrities will mention how upset they are about your plight. Do not badger them by asking for more concrete assistance such as food, water, or shelter. They don't actually ca-- er, I mean they have prior commitments which prevent them from leaving their homes at this time.

10. During a major storm, the Internet will likely not be accessible. Make sure you read any important, life-saving tweets before the storm hits.

11. During the storm, pray. Promising to become a member of the clergy if you live is especially effective.

12. VERY IMPORTANT: do not attempt to contact President Obama for assistance. You may disturb his golf game.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Attack of the Shannons

I walked up Shannon’s driveway, expecting the worst. Her call was terse (as she usually is), saying only that she had a problem, and to bring the cat. That was a bad sign.
I looked down at my faithful companion, calmly pacing along beside me. “Any idea what this is about?” I asked.
“None at all,” He replied, in his usual bass rumble. He may have been an ordinary-looking grey housecat, but he sounded like an angry 6’ 7” prison inmate. Only more violent.
I nodded to the guards flanking Shannon’s front door, who ignored me. However, they saluted my cat, and said, “Welcome back, sir.”
“Your courtesy is appreciated. Stand at ease.” He replied, looking smug.
As the guards ushered us in, I asked, “Why aren’t you guys that nice to me?”
One of them smirked. The other said, “You haven’t killed nearly as many people as he has.” The cat purred briefly.
As we walked into Shannon’s living room, the cat and I got the first of several surprises. First of all, a young black Labrador came bounding over, barking.  He may be a nearly unstoppable furry ball of claws and hate, but my cat was still a cat, and he reacted just as you’d expect: by puffing up and hissing furiously. By the way, the hiss translated as “PREPARE TO DIE, vile hellspawn!”
Shannon came running over. “No, no, Cash! Bad dog! Kitty, don’t kill him!”
The dog backed off, confused. “New friend doesn’t want to play?”
I asked Shannon, “How can he talk?”
“Shut up! If you don’t say anything maybe your readers won’t notice. Cash, this is Kitty. Do what he says and don’t play with him, ok?”
“Yes, mommy.” His voice sounded like a 10 year old kid. He was a really cute dog, and looked cheerful and happy. The cat looked at him with disgust.
“Kitty, take the dog upstairs and play nice with him. Lucas and I have something to talk about.” Shannon was in full I-am-the-boss-so-don’t-fuck-with-me mode.
The cat grumbled, but did as she said. The dog followed, looking cheerful. Shannon said, grumpily, “Follow me.”
We walked into the next room, where I got another surprise. Standing, Sitting, Leaning casually against the wall, what have you; the room was full of pretty blonde women. I grinned happily. Now this was more like it!
Shannon shattered my happy illusions by saying, “Lucas, meet…..Shannon.” a wide sweep of her arm indicated the entire room.
I stopped smiling. “Uh?” I asked.
“They’re all named Shannon. And they’re all pissed at you for putting them in you blog without permission. Well, not that one over there—“ she pointed to an extra-pretty Shannon, sitting on the couch, surrounded by what appeared to be an entourage. “—that one likes publicity. She just wanted to meet you.”
I stood there, utterly at a loss. “Well what do they want me to do about it?”
Shannon said, “Stop using them in your blog.”
I’ve never pretended to be good with people. For me, a good week involves never leaving the house and not speaking to another living creature besides my cat. But I had to deal with this as best I could. I thought for a moment about what to say. This was clearly a complicated issue. Taking all possible points of view into account, I faced the roomful of Shannons and said, “No. Fuck off.”
I can only recall bits and pieces of the riot which followed. Everything was a blur of blonde hair, high heels, and VERY shapely legs. Fortunately, the Shannon who invited me and who actually knew me thought it was hilarious. Even more fortunately, she was a mob boss with a large personal security contingent. After she finished laughing she rescued me from the herd.
Shannon the mob boss (hereafter referred to as Shannon Alpha) and the other Shannon (hereafter referred to as Shannon India) were much more reasonable. Shannon India, as the name suggests, was a HUGE celebrity in India. Singing, Dancing, speaking Hindi, acting in rape scenes, she did it all. All she wanted was a disclaimer from me to make it clear to her fans she wasn’t involved in this blog. I therefore and forthwith present the disclaimer below.

I herefore and forewith ipso facto solemly and with gusto swear that this blog is the sole creation of myself. Characters in this blog are totally not fictional and completely real. Events depicted in this blog are completely 100% factual and are in no way the product of a diseased mind hopped up on caffeine and horse steroids. Any resemblance to any persons, places, animals, events, deities, alternate dimensions, psychic visions, drug-induced hallucinations, or sexual fantasies is totally not on purpose and probably just a figment of your imagination. FURTHERMORE, this blog in no way represents the true plans and agenda of Microsoft Corporation, and any discussion of “world domination” or “summoning  the Elder Gods to earth to reign for a million years” is a fabrication and has absolutely no relevance to Microsoft’s actual plans, which involve the Elder Gods reigning for a BILLION years, not a million. AND EVEN FURTHERMORE AND STUFF, the character of “Shannon India” is not intended to represent the real-life film star Shannon Pumpersnatcher, currently residing at 101 E. Horndog Rd. , Los Angeles, CA 78654. Any suggestion that Shannon India is in fact Shannon Pumpersnatcher, whose phone number is (919)213-9066, is completely ridiculous. This blog has no connection to Shannon Pumpersnatcher, whose email is with password “sekrit”.

Sunday, August 14, 2011


For some reason, a lot of people have been emailing me asking for help lately. Maybe they think my cat’s a superhero or something, I dunno. At any rate, I finally gave in, and got together a panel of experts to give you the best advice possible.
Expert 1: An evil cat, brimming with homicidal rage, who can somehow talk.
Expert 2: A major crime boss, who pretends to be a mild-mannered housewife in New England.
Expert 3: A fat, balding, smelly loser with a raging case of Asperger’s and a freakishly large penis.

Q: I’m having trouble getting a job in this economy, and money is getting tight. My friends say I should go back to school, but I don’t want to take on any more debt. If I don’t find something soon I may have to move home with parents! What should I do? –Joe, 22, Atlanta
Cat: Jobs are for the weak. Real men live in the woods and eat anything too slow to escape.
Shannon: Deal Drugs. Somewhere other than my turf.
Me: Move home with your parents, succumb to major depression, lose all your money, get fat, and spend all your time reading 4chan and masturbating.

Q: I’m an aspiring republican presidential candidate. I need to find a way to stand out from the herd other than my policies or personality because I don’t have either. –Mitt, 56, Boston
Cat: One by one, challenge your opponents to single combat. Slay them all and eat their corpses while journalists watch. Just don’t try this with Sarah Palin.
Shannon: Propose the legalization of prostitution, gambling, drugs, guns, and shady loans.
Me: Have you considered a nice, sleazy sex scandal?

Q: A guy beat me up at school yesterday. My friends say I should get him back, but how? –David, 16, LA
Cat: Ambush him in a school hallway. After knocking him down, establish dominance by urinating on him. I advise marking the school and entire student body as your territory as well, to avoid future challenges.
Shannon: Kill his family.
Me: Tell him you’re gay and hot for him. He’ll never touch you again. Unless he’s gay too, in which case you are (literally) fucked.

Q: Help! My boyfriend cheated on me and I don’t know what to do! Should I dump him or forgive him? Hillary, 14, Ohio
Cat: Where is the problem here? This is normal behavior.
Shannon: Cut his balls off with a knife. Pickle them and put them in a jar on your desk.
Me: Obviously you’re not satisfying him in bed. Try dressing sluttier and new sexual techniques, such as anal, rimming, and pegging.

Q: A friend of mine told me that twilight sucks, but it totally doesn’t! Twilight is the best book ever! Tell him he’s wrong.  –Jenny, 16, FL
Cat: (vomits noisily)
Shannon: What’s your address, Jenny? I have a package for you.
Me: What’s your address, Jenny? You sound cute.

Q: I’m president of the United States. I’m dealing with a lot of problems right now, but none of them are my fault! I just keep getting yelled at, no matter what I do. How do I get the haters to shut up? –Barack, 58, DC
Cat: If you were a true leader, you would beat them into a bloody pulp and feast on their flesh. You disgust me.
Shannon: Cry me a river, bitch.
Me: Have you considered not sucking?

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Talking Cat 5: Kitty for Hire

I was reorganizing my pornography collection when I got the call.
I didn’t recognize the number on caller ID. Puzzled, I answered it. “Hello?”
The deep, James Earl Jones-like voice on the phone was unmistakable. “HUMAN!” Bellowed my cat. “I require transportation!”
For a moment, I simply stared at my computer screen in shock. I wasn’t seeing the image displayed there – in this case, a skillful fake of Will Smith nailing the president  while John McCain watched in the background. (I don’t usually go in for gay porn, but this was a collector’s item).  Instead, I was realizing that a) I hadn’t seen my cat for a week, b) that was why I felt so relaxed, c) he could use phones now, and d) where the hell was he?
“Cat,” I began cautiously, “where are you? And do I want to know what you’re doing there?”
He replied cheerfully, “I’m up at your friend Shannon’s! Remember her?”
“Ummm…..yes…..but I thought she was mad at us. You know, the dead bear and all.”
“Oh, that.” He meowed dismissively. “That was merely a smokescreen to fool the police. They have all her phones tapped. She emailed me last week at my website and said she had some work for me, so I caught the next bus up here. That reminds me, your buses are hives of filth and stupidity. I had to tear someone’s ears off for insisting that dogs are better than cats. You’ve never heard such whining.”
I thought, What the fuck?
I said, “What the fuck?”
He hissed over the phone. “Do not use filthy language with me, Human! Speak properly or not at all.”
I took a deep breath. “Ok. You have a website? What did Shannon want? Why did she need? And how can she talk to you?”
“Yes, it’s .  I care not how Shannon can speak with me, but it’s nice having someone more manly than you to talk to. She’s much more my type.”
“More manly! She’s a petite blonde! With two kids! How is that manly?”
He snickered. “It’s not the plumbing, it’s the attitude.”
“Little shit,” I snarled at him. “When you get back I’m having you neutered again.”
As I was (angrily) talking, I typed in the URL of kitty’s homepage. I was greeted by a video. Music began playing. “You spin me round round baby right round, like a record baby, round round round…”
I recoiled in horror. “Agh! My eyes!”
The cat laughed evilly. “Ha! FOOL! Never trust information a strange cat gives you over the phone!”
I hastily closed the window. “Cat, stop fucking with me and answer my questions. Why did Shannon want you to do something for her?”
He purred happily. That was a bad sign.
Over the next half hour, I managed to drag the details out of him. The least shocking detail was that apparently, good-natured, quiet Shannon who I knew from high school had embarked on a career in organized crime. She was currently involved in a small scale mob war against a rival organization.

Then things got weird.

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me that the rival organization Shannon is at war with consists of escaped Russian circus animals?” I demanded incredulously.
And that was why Shannon wanted my kitty as a hit man. He was unmatched at murdering wild animals of any shape or size. It also explained why there was a large brown bear impersonating her last week.
I gave in. “All right, whatever. I don’t care. I don’t WANT to care. You and Shannon just do whatever and don’t tell me about it. I’ll be there to pick you up tomorrow.”
“Wait, human! I haven’t told you the best part!”
Very, very cautiously, I said, “………..what’s the best part?”
“My first kill was a mountain lion! I couldn’t eat it, Shannon insisted we had to make it look like an accident. So we ran over it with her car a few times. It made the papers and everything!”
I hung up.
The next day, I picked up my blood-drenched kitty from Shannon’s. She didn’t bother with keeping up appearances this time. The armed guards all over the place were a giveaway. Shannon herself looked fairly ordinary except for the .45 on her hip and the freaking sword slung over her back, the hilt sticking over her left shoulder so she could grab it. She was expressionlessly sipping coffee from a mug that said “I can only help one person a day. Today isn’t your day. Tomorrow isn’t looking so hot either”. She was standing in front of some guy kneeling on her driveway with his hands cuffed behind him, begging for his life. I decided this wasn't the best time to say hello.
As we drove away, I heard a single gunshot. The cat purred briefly. “I told you she was more manly than you."

Friday, August 5, 2011

Talking Cat 4: The Search for Kitty

One frantic internet search later, I was calling my old high school friend Shannon. As the phone rang, I tried to remember whether I'd stalked her or not. Horribly, I was drawing a blank. I couldn't remember much about her at all other than "blonde, pretty, and popular". Oh well, I'd wing it.
"Hi, Shannon, this is Lucas. Remember me?"
"......sort of......"
"We hung out at that one place that one time, and I managed to offend nearly everyone in 15 minutes flat?"
"...oh yeah! Hi!"
Quickly, I explained the problem. "My cat can talk, and no one but me can hear him. he's coming to your house to help you with your warthog problem after he read about it on facebook. I'm worried that he won't stop with the warthog since he's evil. I need to drive over there, get the cat, and get back before he kills something. Or someone."
There was a long, long pause. "Hello?" I asked.
"Yes, um, I'm here. I, a little surprised. Are you, by any chance, in a mental institution right now?" She sounded very confused. Well, who could blame her? It was a lot to take in.
I tried to sound encouraging. "Not at the moment. They said I was no longer a danger to myself or others and let me out a while back. That doesn't matter, though. Look, all I need to do is show up there, grab the cat, and split. Nothing to it."
"Well......I could catch him for you."
"No! It's much too dangerous. Look, I'll be there in a few hours. Just stay alive!"
"Wait...." she said. "How's the cat going to get here so fast? I live hundreds of miles away!"
I gritted my teeth. "I made the mistake of leaving my credit card out. He bought a bus ticket."
Apparently, the mental image of my cat calmly waiting in line, presenting his ticket, and riding on a bus like nothing was wrong overwhelmed her, because she had nothing to say to that. I hung up, and ran for the car.

There's a lot of things that go through your mind when you're racing to stop your murderous cat from possibly killing an old high school friend. Unfortunately, I can't remember any of them, because I was distracted by this SMOKIN' hot brunette driving next to me. It was with a heavy heart that I turned off the insterstate and let her drive away.

I arrived at Shannon's after only a few hours. She met me at the door. "Lucas! It's ok, I caught him!"
I stopped dead and let out a huge sigh of relief. "Thank God! Where is he? Did he hurt anyone?"
She smiled up at me (she was shorter than I remembered). "I have him in a cat carrier in the kitchen. Come on in."
She had a really nice house, but I had eyes only for my dear, sweet kitty, who was indeed in a cat carrier on the kitchen counter. I knew it was him; the murderous glare in his eyes and the howls of incoherent feline rage gave him away. "Kitty!" I shouted, not entirely joyfully. He paused in his attempts to rip the metal grate out and regarded me. "HUMAN!" he boomed, in his incredibly deep, bass rumble. "I require assistance! This bloody peasant has imprisoned me!"
"Hold on, cat. I'll be right there." I turned to Shannon. "I'm so glad nothing bad happened! How did you catch him?"
Shannon smiled charmingly. "Oh, I have my ways. Hey, since you're here, let's sit and chat a while. We can catch up. I put out some snacks."
"Uh....." Now it was my turn to be surprised. "Sure, I guess...." I walked over to where the snacks were.
"Great! I served my favorite, raw salmon and mixed nuts and berries."
"Uh?" I said. I was still trying to figure out why she was being nice to me. Something was going on. But what?
Shannon stood right next to me. A little too close, in fact. She was checking me out rather obviously. I had no idea how to respond to that. She said, "I can see you've gained weight....." She smiled again, showing her teeth.
The cat screamed at me. "Human! It's a trap!"
I froze, as suddenly, all the clues fell into place.
Her favorite foods were raw salmon, berries, and nuts. She was skilled in the outdoors. She was looking at me like she wanted to eat me.
Shannon was an Alaskan Grizzly Bear in disguise.
The bear sensed I had seen through its deception and threw off its disguise. A 5'0" slim blonde transforming into an 8'5" 1000 lb grizzly bear was quite a spectacle. I dove for cover behind the couch.
"UUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNG" said Shannon, and tore the couch in half. I scurried across the floor, still on my hands and knees, as the bear advanced on me.
"HUMAN! TO ME!" boomed the cat.
"What the hell does that mean?!?!" I shouted, as I threw a chair at the bear. I staggered to my feet and sprinted away.
"It means COME OVER HERE AND LET ME OUT!" bawled the cat.
"UUUURRRRRNNNNNNUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!" Bellowed Shannon, the chair bouncing off her head and shattering.
I sprinted to the kitchen, the bear in hot pursuit. I barely stayed out of reach of her huge claws. lungs heaving, I wrenched the cat carrier open.
The cat erupted from his prison. "PREPARE FOR DOOM, EVIL HAIRY ONE!"  He yowled up at the bear.
"UURRNNN!" Exclaimed the bear.
The next few moments were so horrifying that I can only describe them using euphemisms.
The cat leaped onto the bear, tearing into her dinglehopper. The bear roared and tried to grab kitty's foofinsnortle, but missed. Kitty moved across the bear's back using his claws, latching on to her bumpus nubs. Mudkipz flew everywhere. Then kitty moved in, tearing out her tittlegrief. Mudkipz and liquidy Hydrosquirtle spewed across the room. I was so shocked I Hydrosquirtled myself. Then kitty took the bear down with a devastating bite to the bumpus nubs and finished her off with a merciless strike to the anterior rectal cavity. I staggered outside and yawned in technicolor into Shannon's beautiful flower bed.
The cat pranced out, covered in Mudkipz. "That's the way we did it in ancient Egypt, beeyotch," he snarled.
"Come on, cat, we gotta get out of here before the real Shannon gets home!"
"Ugh. Oh, very well." He jumped into the car with me.
Halfway home, the real Shannon called me. I was pretty out of it, so I don't remember much other than "dead bear in my house, you bastard, put you away for the rest of your natural life, blah blah blah." I tried explaining that it wasn't my fault, but she didn't want to hear it. I hung up on her after she called me a "blight on humanity". Even the cat thought that was a little much.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Talking to the Cat: Part 3

Talking Cat 3

I finally managed to make peace with my cat. I realized that, after I gained the ability to speak with him, I had been treating him more like a human. He's still a cat, just a talking, evil one. So I went back to Wal-Mart and made some purchases.
Later that day, he came in and, as usual, began berating me in his deep, booming voice. "FOOL! Why have you not prepared my evening meal? You know I DEMAND food when I return from slaughtering the weak --"
I pulled out my new laser pointer and clicked it on near his feet.
" -- PREY!" he shouted, and pounced. I moved the red dot away from him, slowly. He tracked it like a pedophile window-shopping at a kindergarden. Then he pounced again, slamming his head directly into the wall.
We continued like this for about an hour. Finally, he sat down and panted. "This prey continues to elude me. I must rest before taking my revenge upon it." I dropped a scratching post full of catnip in front of him. His eyes widened as he took the scent, and began vigorously trying to tear it apart. After another hour of doing cheetah flips in midair and yowling randomly, he flopped down, asleep. I grinned.
Ever since then, things have been going better. He'll even watch me playing games or watching TV sometimes, though I find the commentary to be disturbing.
On shooting games: "Use caution here, human. Prowl, if you can. Yes....yesssss.....sneak up behind him. Now the knife! YES! DIE, PREY! HAHAHAHA! I LOVE THIS GAME, HUMAN!"
On strategy games: "This bores me. Wake me when there's prey to kill." (falls asleep on keyboard).
On facebook: "I shall have my own facebook page, so that others may know of my greatness. You will create it for me. Typing is beneath me."
On porn: "Ugh, disgusting! Your females are hairless! And they have no tails! I must now vomit on your lap."
On furry porn: "That's more like it." (in retrospect, it should not have surprised me that the cat is into furry porn).
On Star Wars: "Boring, boring, boring....there's no blood." (sees Darth Vader) "I like this one."
On Empire Strikes Back: "Yeeeees.....die, Luke! DIE, WEAKLING SCUM! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! VADER IS UNSTOPPABLE!"
On Return of the Jedi: "I want to eat the furry little things. They are small and helpless."
All in all, things are going better, except for one incident. He's figured out how to browse the web, but he can't type, only use the mouse. That limits the trouble he can get into. I bookmarked a bunch of funny cat picture sites for him and he looks at them for hours while I'm asleep. Anyways, one night he was reading facebook. I didn't think anything of it at the time. But then I saw what he'd been looking at: A friend form high school posted about a groundhog in her yard. Earlier I'd replied with a throwaway joke about how my cat would take care of it. He read that and tried to type a reply, but couldn't get it to work, so he deleted it.
And he wasn't in the house this morning. Oh........shit.
I looked around frantically, hoping he was just out murdering some birds, like usual.Then I found the note he left me, on the kitchen floor, crudely scrawled using one of my old pens: DEAER HOOMIN, GON TO HELPP YUR FREND SHANNN WIT GROWNDHG. B BAK N A WEEK. HATE U, KITTY


Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Talking To The Cat: Part 2

Things have changed since I gained the ability to speak with my cat.
He woke me up at dawn this morning by sitting on my chest and shouting into my face: “AWAKEN, HUMAN, AND EXPERIENCE THE JOY OF SERVING ME!”
I woke up, convulsing. “uuuh!”  The cat’s face was only an inch or so away from mine. His whiskers were tickling me.  “Dammit, cat….” I muttered.
He turned around and lifted his tail. I tried to avert my eyes from his exposed sphincter. “Are you not in awe at the awesome power of CAT ASS?” He asked.
“NO! Now let me sleep. Fucking sadistic cat. “ I threw him off the bed and rolled over, asleep in seconds.
That was a mistake.
I woke six hours later, feeling much better. I vaguely remembered the dawn incident, but I dismissed it as a dream. I moseyed through the house and grabbed my first caffeine of the day and started to fix breakfast. I happened to glance out the window. What I saw caused my colon to spasm with horror.
A pyramid of dead birds was arranged neatly on the hood of my car. There had to be at least a dozen of them. Blood and entrails were splattered all over my car. Lying calmly next to the pile was my cat, looking satisfied.
I burst out of the front door. “CAT!” I shouted in rage. “WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK!”
He lazily opened one eye. “That isn’t proper grammar. I shall not reply to this filth.” He closed it again.
I was so angry I thought my head might actually explode. Instead I farted. Not just any fart, either; it was a sixty second long bass rumble that shook the windows and had me checking my pants. Yep, a couple of squeakers and a skid mark. Oh well, no time for that now. I had cat ass to kick.
I grabbed the garden hose and turned it on him full blast, using my thumb to narrow the opening. The resulting increase in pressure showered the cat in water from a full ten feet away and knocked his pile of dead birds off the car. “MEEEROOOWWW!” He howled.
The cat shot off my car as if he’d been launched by a catapult, or my recent fart. He flew through the air and landed at a dead sprint, streaking into the nearby bushes. I blasted water after him, but lost him in the underbrush.
“How do ya like that, huh?” I turned the hose off, but kept it ready. A nearby shrub vented a stream of curses.
“So, I’m guessing this means you hate water?” I asked the shrub, innocently.
The shrub (or rather, the cat hiding under it) shook in rage. “You know goddamn well we hate water, you stupid son of a…” he trailed off into a stream of obscenity so vile it impressed even me.  
“Yeah, well next time don’t wake me up at fucking dawn!”
“Well next time get up and feed me like you’re supposed to!”
I heard a footstep nearby. I whirled, surprised.
One of my neighbors was standing there, staring at me, his eyes wide. I realized about thirty seconds too late that, from his point of view, I was standing there half naked with dookie in my pants and holding a garden hose like it was an assault rifle, screaming obscenities into the shrubbery. In an attempt to salvage the situation, I managed to smile weakly. I frantically tried to think of an excuse. “Women and their sex games, eh?” I said, and shrugged.
His eyes widened even further. Then he turned and ran. The cat snickered evilly. I threw down the garden hose, frustrated.
The cat emerged to gloat at his victory. “And now you know why we are the dominant species on the planet, fool! Those who mess with the cat shall feel his claws! You shall learn to fear and obey, like so many –“
I grabbed him mid-rant and ran inside. “BATH TIME!” I shouted gleefully.
The cat was so shocked all he managed was a single look of utter horror before I made it into the bathroom.
The police arrived thirty minutes later. My neighbor had called them, the dick, and given them some garbled story about madman with a scat fetish holding some woman hostage. They burst into my bathroom just in time to stop me from bleeding to death from hundreds of deep, nasty scratches. The cat, of course, was fine. I got back from the hospital ten hours later to find the cat had arranged the dead birds into a swastika on the driveway. It was clearly visible from the road. I parked my car over it. I’m going to have to make peace with him somehow. The cost of open war is too high.

Talking To The Cat: Part 1

This morning, I cast my first magic spell. To find out what to do, I had conducted hundreds of late-night internet searches. I had expected something long and intricate involving blood sacrifice, but the true method for invoking magic surprised me.
I cast the spell by traveling to my local Wal-Mart and placing my hand upon the blessed Paper Towels of Invoking. I intoned, “I want to talk to my cat.” And it was done. Of course, I didn’t find out if it worked right then. First I had to buy something, because the staff were getting suspicious. And after I got home, the cat was out, hunting as usual. But a few hours later…..
I heard the “flip-flap” of the cat door. Then, instead of his usual meows: “HUMAN! I require sustenance!”
I winced. “Jesus, cat! Your voice is deeper than mine!”
He didn’t seem surprised that we could communicate now. “Perhaps it is an indicator of my virility. Come! Feed me!”
I stood up. “Virility? I had your balls cut off.”
He hissed and clawed me. “I will not tolerate your insolence! More food! Now! Or I shall poop in your bed!”
“Ok, ok, Damn. Stop hassling me.”
After he chowed down, I said, “Kitty, I was wondering if you’d do me a favor.”
He glanced up at me. “No.” He then began licking himself.
I said, “Look, I can see you’re a busy man. Er, cat. But this is important.”
He ignored me, sticking one leg in the air and starting in on his butt like there was buried treasure in there.
I sighed. “I want you to stop bringing animals in the house after you catch them.”
That got his attention. “WHAT! How dare you!” He walked over and started attacking my feet.
“OW! Stop that! Listen, cleaning up dead birds and mice gets old after a while. And that time you let the rat loose in the house – “
He interrupted me, now sitting still and looking innocent. “That was merely to provide amusement at some later date.”
“There was a rat living in the kitchen for SIX MONTHS. I couldn’t kill it.”
He snickered. “Loser.”
“It pooped behind the washer, dryer and the oven. I had to remove the damn oven from the wall to clean it!”
He snickered again. “Idiot.”
“And don’t get me started on the baby rabbits you killed under my bed!”
He lay down and stretched. “Their screams were delicious. So was their flesh.”
I paused. “Are all cats this evil, or is it just you?”
He rolled over languidly, plainly relaxed and unconcerned. “Evil! HAH! We exist beyond your puny considerations of morality.”
I thought carefully. Obviously this wasn’t working. I needed to take a different approach.
“Kitty, if you don’t stop bringing animals in the house, I will have you declawed and make you wear a collar with a bell on it.”
That got his attention. He sat bolt upright, his eyes narrowed to slits. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I dare. I would SO dare.”
He paused. He gave me a look that, if I had been a mouse or bird, would have haunted my nightmares for the rest of my life. But since I was ten times his size, it merely irritated me. Finally: “So be it. You drive a hard bargain, human.”
“You kill a lot of small animals, cat. Let’s shake on it.”
We shook on it. He drew blood.

The Cat Has Gone Too Far

As most of you know, I complain about my cat a lot. He's a mighty hunter, and thinks it's just great to bring me live animals, kill, and eat them under my bed. Or in some cases lose interest and let them nest in my kitchen for six months. But tonight he went TOO FAR. this is the last straw.

Tonight, my caught brought home a Mexican migrant laborer. He looked to be about 20-ish. I was awakened about 11 PM by the sounds of him screaming as the cat prepared to devour him. I stormed out of bed and turned on the lights. "DAMMIT CAT! NO! BAD KITTY!"
"meeeooow?" (innocent look)
The mexican guy started babbling. He was pretty upset. Sadly, I could not understand his native tongue. I tried writing down what he said, but I haven't been able to get Google to translate it. After I got the cat off him, he said something like "I speak english, you stupid asshole!"
I was stumped. How could I communicate with him? Through trial and error, I was able to convey basic meaning through a series of gestures, to which he would reply in his incomprehensible native tongue. I managed to get him calmed down, and to keep him busy, I sat him down at my computer to look at porn. While I'd been distracted, the cat had brought in a female deer, which he was attempting to finish off.
mexican: "Holy shit!"
It took me an hour, but I got it all cleared up. The mexican's asleep on my couch; tommorrow I'll try to drop him off at an animal shelter or something. The deer died from its injuries. I threw the carcass over the fence into my neighbor's yard. The cat followed quickly, and horrible sounds of rending flesh could be heard. The neighbor's dog came to investigate; unfortunately it was a smaller dog, and too slow to escape my cat's whirlwind of death.
I'm going to have to do something about this. Tommorrow, I will try to cast a spell which will enable me to speak to cats. If it succeeds, I shall try to reason with him. If that fails, I don't know what I will do.

[edited: 2:57:33 AM]
this is Ricardo Jimenez help me im trapped in crazy mans house if you come to rescue me watch out for his cat it is possessed by the devil

Monday, August 1, 2011

How to Deal With: Monsters

So, last night I found out that a monster lives in my closet. My murderous cat, bless his furry, blood-drenched soul, found it while I was playing Mass Effect 2. As usual, I had my headphones on, intent on my quest to lure Miranda and Kelly into a threesome, when his yowls of rage yanked me abruptly back into reality. “Goddammit, cat!” I shouted, certain it was another mouse. I stood up and stormed over to the closet, stepping over piles of unwashed clothes, stacks of books, and my complete collection of Sarah Palin commemorative dinner plates. When I got a good look into the closet, however, I shut my mouth in mid-rant.
My cat was furiously attacking the ankle of a large, purple, people-eater. It was without any doubt a monster; the jagged teeth, drool, claws, and murderous glare gave it away. Well, ok, it could be my cat, but he was smaller and furrier. And not purple. Otherwise, no difference at all. I stared at it. It stared at me. The cat took a chunk out of its leg and ran off to eat it. That got its attention. “UUUUUURRRRG!” It shouted, spraying spittle everywhere. I retreated to my bed. It’s breath was BAD. I mean, DAYUM.  As I gagged, it lumbered out of my closet and snarled at me. The fact that the purple people-eating monster was limping and bleeding profusely from my cat’s attempt to eat it made it a little less threatening. Still, I was in trouble. How was I going to deal with this? I could use my old army knife on it, but then it would bleed all over my dirty clothes, and I would have to wash them. I’d been putting that off for a month and I was determined not to give up yet, so that was out. I could talk it to death, but the fact that it didn’t have ears was an issue. Suddenly, inspiration struck: I was still aroused from ogling Miranda’s ass in Mass Effect 2 (more like ASS effect amirite)?
Lying back, I pulled out my gigantic, throbbing cock and began stroking it. I looked the monster right in the eyes and said, “Hi there sexy.”
Its eyes widened in horror.
I don’t think he’ll be coming around here again.

12 Steps for Recovering Mass Effect Addicts

I can admit it: I have a problem. I have become obsessed with Mass Effect. Between the exciting action scenes, the great background, deep characterizations, brilliant graphics, and Miranda’s ass, I can think of nothing else. The first indicator that I was dangerously obsessed was when I didn’t eat or sleep for two days to finish the game for the first time. The second indicator was me not eating or sleeping for another two days to finish the game for a second time.  The third indicator was a live chicken in my bedroom at 3 AM, which was not being attacked by my murderous cat, indicating that I had begun to hallucinate due to lack of food and sleep. The fourth indicator was, when I went to subway to get some food, a pretty girl asked me out. I replied that I couldn’t go out with her as I was in a committed relationship with Tali. After that, I knew I was in trouble. I therefore created the “12 step program for Mass-aholics”. (I should have called it “Massholes” but I was worried no one would get it). Here is the first version of my 12-step program.
STEP 1: Complete a mission without ogling Samara’s cleavage or Miranda’s ass
STEP 2: Dump Tali. Cry.
STEP 3: Play the final mission and deliberately get your entire crew killed
STEP 4: Play mission where romance option from the first game shows up; realize that you are a cheating bastard
STEP 5: Download pictures of real women
STEP 6: Masturbate
STEP 7: Discover Yvonne Strahovski, the actress who provided the voice and looks for Miranda
STEP 8: Masturbate
STEP 9: Return to step 1
The process obviously needed some work, so I tried to create version 2 of the 12 step program.
STEP 1. Play entire game without removing pants
STEP 2. Play as female main character. Attempt to romance female crew members. Get rejected. Cry.
STEP 3. Except that Kelly doesn’t reject you, and in fact gives you a sexy dance after the last mission.
STEP 4. Put your pants back on.
STEP 5. Return to step 1.
That wasn’t working either. So I slept on it. In a dream, God appeared, and told me the solution.
STEPS 1 THROUGH 12: Turn off the fucking game
Why didn’t I think of that?

Interview: actress Yvonne Strahovski

Me: Thank you for agreeing to this interview. It’ll be a big traffic boost for me.
Yvonne: I didn’t agree to a bloody thing. You’re just making all this up.
Me: Stop playing hard to get, Yvonne. We’re already here, it’s time to deliver.
Yvonne. Fine, whatever.
Me: Besides, if I was making this all up, wouldn’t I make you more….agreeable?
Yvonne: Not if you like being abused by women.
Me: …..
Yvonne: You know, that would explain a lot about your love life.
Yvonne: Oooh, touch a nerve there, did I?
Me: MOVING RIGHT ALONG….When did you first get into show business?
Yvonne: Go search Wikipedia. That’s such a lame question I don’t have to answer it.
Me: (gritting teeth) FINE. Here’s a new, fresh, and interesting question. Is it true that you find fat, balding men who smell of coffee arousing?
Yvonne: WHAT? NO!
Me: Stop being coy, Yvonne. I saw how you were looking at me earlier.
Yvonne: I WAS NOT!
Me: OK, enough flirting. Next question: Is it true that your paternal grandfather was a Nazi camp guard who fled to Australia after the war?
Yvonne: NO! That is a vicious lie propogated by the Zionist-controlled media.
Me: So, you deny the charge?
Yvonne: I deny it completely.
Me: But you do, in fact, have blond hair and blue eyes.
Yvonne: Yes…..
Me: That proves that your grandfather was a Nazi, does it not?
Yvonne: NO!
Me: I know the truth Yvonne. Admit it.
Yvonne: Admit what? That this entire thing has been a pack of lies from start to finish?
Me: Admit that you are a product of secret Nazi genetic engineering work designed to create the perfect woman. Smuggled out of Germany before the end of the war, you were given to foster parents to raise.
Yvonne: You’re bloody insane!
Me: The truth is out. You are simply too sexy to exist. Not to mention the brains and biotics. Your father gave you everything to carry out his dynasty, except love.
Yvonne: Biotics?......what…… you’re talking about the character I played in Mass Effect 2, Miranda!
Me: More Zionist propaganda! I know the truth!
Yvonne: Listen to me, you bleedin’ psycho: I am not the characters I play. I ACT. It’s NOT REAL!
Me: Oh, so you deny your involvement with Cerberus?
Yvonne: You are a truly disturbed individual and you need help. And a size XXXXL straitjacket. This interview is over.
Me: Wait, Mira – er, Yvonne! You can’t run away from the truth!
(footsteps receding rapidly into the distance)
(sound of interviewer crying forlornly in the corner)