It’s hella long, girls!

I found out in the oddest way possible that cat authors are privy to untold amounts of information that you, Joe Public, have to wait to see on that cocksmoking pile of steamy crap, Fox News, if you even see any of it.

That whole Led Zeppelin benefit concert last week sucking ass?! Hell brah, I knew about that 9 months ago. In fact, it was Bob Plant that sent out the memo: Most excellent cat writers. We are playing a ‘benefit’ show cause Page is getting blackmailed by his neighbor’s daughter and he needs the bread. We are gonna suck real bad. Just wanted to let you all know so you don’t waste the money on a ticket. – Yours, Bob.

Since I was sworn in last year at the Annual Cat Writer’s Conference as a member of one of the most elite groups in the state of Montana, I was not able to warn Jamie Moyer and wife before they wasted big time flow on it. Hey, he went to Cleveland… fuck him!

So, here is it, five months after the last cats were posted and I am blathering again about the sad state of affairs in the world of feline humor. Let me remove the ball gag and just say for the record; I have recently received a lot of questions about my possible demise, the end of the world in 2012, my new religious-fisherman best-seller, The Anchovy Code.

Now, you know that I am not dead because I was seen in Brainerd, Minnesota last week trying to break into the Holy Order of Molasses Convent, Mr. Johnson in hand. The 2012 thing sort of owes its notoriety to McKenna and his psilo-ridden, now-decayed cerebrum. But being the A-LIST mollafocka I am, it is understandable why people come to me with this shit. How do I put this simply for you all? 2+0+1+2 = 5, which we all know is the cube-cube-cube root of 1953125. Oh crap, I just almost violated my oath as a Cat Writer. I will say this though… Robert Downey Jr. had it right on when he said, “Oh shit.” Now, as for The Anchovy Code, it was really an accident. I happened to have been in one of those rare hallucinatory moments between Monday and Saturday when He came to me. No, not HIM, him, but the littler him, St. Anchovy himself. There he was, in all his silver, fishy, about to go on the pizza glory. He said to me, “Glurb glurb, Jim! GLURB GLURB!” And then it was over and he was in the fucking Caesar salad dressing! And man, did he taste good with romaine and croutons. At that moment I knew the truth. And when the movie comes out, the ‘berg already told me that he is going to cast none other than Coming-in-Nicole-Kidman’s-Hair Harvey Keitel to play me as the guy that runs the smoothie shoppe in Venice. $ 5.00 advance tickets available here first, folks… HERE FIRST!

Now, in the REAL world, all sorts of things have been going on… some not so fun, some very fun. The NOT-SO-FUN I will maybe share later, dunno. But the FUN stuff is the following news : there are new cats up as of NOW! We have finished the Bad Cat 2009 Page-A-Day calendar… AND… Bad Cat 2, the sequel to Bad Cat. My publisher has about 30 days left to determine if they are going to publish it or if they are going to send me on my merry One-Million-Books-In-Print way to another publisher to make big profits. How big are their profits? Well, I am not at liberty to say, but I get pennies on the dollar for each book sold, no lie. Can I get a high five?!

I hope the holidays are treating you all well and God has blessed you with virility, fertility, humility, calamity, enmity, sterility, abnormality, obscenity, anthropocentricity, generosity, and of course… hideosity. Much love from your benevolent Dick-Taster!

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