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News from the Gulf

Firstly, there are some belated announcements to be given out.

  • Happy tenth birthday to MyCatHatesYou dot com (Dec 10th, 2010). We were inarguably the first mainstream feline humor website to grace the internet back in the day when people were still trying to secure their corner of GeoCities to put up pictures of their vacation to Detroit to impress their friends in Cincinnati. Being the obvious inspiration for I Can Haz Cheeseburgers (which to this day still makes no sense to us), Stuff on My Cat, the short-lived My Cat Loves You, and StinkyLitterboxes.com – which has YET to get off the ground – is humbling to our core. Three books have been published from our content, each having a unique take on our concept. Our kitties have been used for commercial advertisements, rave posters, promotional items, album covers, PowerPoint presentations around the world, and more. Can it get more humbling? Yes, it can! While watching Animal Hoarders the other day, Athena and I spotted a Bad Cat wall calendar hanging in this woman’s bedroom, along with sixty something cats – the cat’s weren’t hanging , the calendar was. No lie, they showed it a few times. I hope there is no such thing as bad publicity.
  • Athena and I are officialy engaged to be married, as of Dec 24th. She accepted my proposal and has since since fled to Baltimore, or so says the private investigator I hired to track her down. Don’t worry friends, she will be followed by myself as soon as I wrap up some stuff down here in Fla. It is true that this area of the Gulf is the best, for many reasons, but not for the employment scene. Not much hiring going on for skilled jobs. The service industry, yes, but even that is a tough nut to crack as it is seasonal and workers from last season have pereference. Anyway, more news about the fiance and I to come, once my detective locates her!
  • Happy Birthday to The Jeez (Dec 25).

  • Happy New Year’s to all y’all! It should be a great year for those of us who are not the following:
    • The Pittsburgh Steelers
    • sex offender Ben Roethlisberger
    • the Tunisian President
    • Egyptians in general
    • American Congresswomen or their aides or nine-year-old girls or Federal Judges
    • Jack LaLanne
    • Pete Postlethwaite
    • Rush Limbaugh’s heart and circulatory system.
    • Future NASA Mars rovers.
    • Tom Cavanagh
    • Eunice Sanborn (world’s oldest living person)
    • Uga VIII (U of Georgia mascot bulldog)
    • Anybody on Death Row.

During a bout of ephemeral solemnness, MCHY condemned, within the first hour, the murders of the Tuscon Six and the wounding of Rep. Gabrielle Giffords and many others. Many tears were shed here in Gulf Breeze as the events of that morning were explicated throughout the day. We tend to agree with the President’s words at the memorial. Even though we at MCHY are so far to the left you would expect to find us floating in the Pacific Ocean (stage left, facing North, of course), we believe hateful rhetoric needs to stop. Inciting mentally deficient humans to commit cardinal sins is not honorable, no matter from whence it is instigated. Unless it comes from our cats; that is an acceptable form of free speech. I can’t say too much more lest I receive a rash of hate mail from the right-wingers who love threatening me to not get into politics, lest they stop coming to our site. Which of course would do about as much good as the boycott of British Petroleum of last summer. I digress…

Following MCHY protocol, I did not get all the cats up that I promised to get up last month, or November, or whenever it was. They are still sitting around here waiting to be posted. Should get to that tonight. Please remember I need LOTS of cats, LOTS AND LOTS of thems! I am working on a few projects right now that require many good cat pics. Send ‘em in, honkies!

Ah… the Super Bowl, or as Athena called it, the Super Bowel, which I thought was hilarious. Anything related to Ben Roethlisberger makes me think of bowels, which reminds me of a joke I heard when I was eight years young. It goes like this:

Childhood

The U.S. Army is being diligent in its eradication of the indigenous population of the Plains Territories. It comes across a small camp of Injuns that have not left yet, but may still be massacred. The Army Captain goes to a nearby brave and asks why. He says to see Chief Bowels in the big teepee down the way. The Captain opens the teepee and says to the Chief, "You gotta go redskin, paleface is here to fuck your shit up." The Chief says to the Captain, "Chief Bowels not move!" The Captain thinks about it and leaves. He comes back that day with some laxative tea, which he gives to the Chief. "Take this," he says. I will be back tomorrow. The next day the Captain comes back and upon opening the teepee door, hears, "Chief Bowels not move!" The Captain leaves and returns with more tea. This happens for three days, and finally the Captain comes to the teepee and smells a foul stench. He opens the door and hears, "Bowels move NOW! Teepee full of shit!"

It is amazing what kids find funny, isn’t it? I have a friend from my school years who appeared in a very violent dream of mine the other night. He was the leader of a sort of band of meth-heads that arrived on a bus to our condo and tried to fuck over us. Since I own and use firearms in real life, they tend to leak over into my dreams. In this dream, I had to pull out my Glock 9mm and Athena’s Ruger .357 and blast some of these toothless bastardos away to a tertiary dimension (those kinds of things exist in my dreams), which was more gory in the sleep-state than it would be in the waking hours. In real life, people’s heads don’t explode like an A-Bomb when hit with a medium-caliber bullet. Odd how that happens. Oh, yeah, for those of you who have told me that a 9mm round is not very powerful and doesn’t have stopping power, talk to the nineteen people shot and murdered in Tuscon about that. They were all shot with a Glock 9mm, probably hollowpoints, sure, but that round will kill you. It is an approved NATO round, isn’t it!? 9mm Parabellum!? The standard UZI chambering!? Idiots. Anyway, my childhood friend, Corey Schmidt, used to burp the whole alphabet. How cool is that to a thirteen year-old? The kewlest, brah! Fucking childhood, what are you going to do?

The Super Bowl

So, last night I had the privilege of watching the Packers of the Bay of Green show Ben Roethlisberger that he should have stuck to sexually assaulting women and not try to mess with men. There will always be the folk songs sung about a defensive return for a TD and the missed field goal that would have made a difference and the pass intereference that should have been called on the last possession of the game for the Stealers. To all that shit, I say, remember SB XL? The non-Seattle-touchdown that was? The penalties on the Seahawks that weren’t? So, Pittsburgh can take a big collective sigh, relax, bend over and STFU. The Packers are on their way up there to… well… PACK IT!

It was a great game in that it was a blowout, then a comeback, then a… wait, what?… yeah, a comeback that reminds one of… what is the term? whiskey-dick! That perennial affliction where one does not quite rise to the occasion, which describes the Stealers to a tee. The moniker "Big Ben" Roethlisberger will need a bit revamping. Seeing him ramble in the post-game interview reminded me of our BMW mechanic explaining how the entirety of Israel worships Satan, seriously.

His reply should be simply, "I apologize to the entire city of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, for the fact that I suck and have to rely on everyone else to make me look good, or, as in this case, not very good. As much as I did not want to admit this, I like to throw interceptions that get converted eventually to touchdowns. The three-year-old lock of Polamalu’s hair that I keep tucked into my jock strap is not, as I was initially told, a good luck charm. In fact, it itches me and may have caused the rash that has been the bane of my existence for so long. I like to argue with refs and generally make my own calls on plays, but only if it benefits me. I am larger than I should be due to a genetic anomaly caused by a case of inbreeding in my family two generations previous. That is a big word for me, inbreeding. I found it on a birthday card from my grandmother/great-aunt. There was a two-dollar bill in the card as well. Thanks grandma/great-aunt! I love two-dollar bills! Sorry, Pittsburgh, but I make more than 99% of you."

Kudos to my boy, Aaron Rodgers. Finally, a professional athlete that studied at the same college I have. In this case it is Butte Community College, Chico, CA. I studied Mayan Mathematics and Advanced Astronomy and of course, Theater. I am pretty sure he studied Football and Beer, which is an actual class there, trust me. The Mayor and the rest of the city hangs out in Duffy’s Irish Pub. They are probably all grads, too! GO Aaron!

The Rest

So, things are rolling along here in Lower Alabama. I have some projects in the works. Keeping sane best I can. Our little monster Nigel is making life interesting. I will get some pics of him. As for the pics of the crab pics I was going to post… the season got thin and we have not been crabbing for awhile. But I will say it is completely amazing, as most you know, to go out and get your own food, as we did from our garden in Seattle.

This is random, but very strange. I was in a public restroom recently and the stall for pooping had one of those baby changing station embedded with Braille instructions. I have to wonder the following; a man goes into the stall with a baby in his hand. He is blind and maybe doesn’t even know where he is. He gets to the stall, cracks his shin on the porcelain toilet bowl, hopefully doesn’t drop the infant into the blue water swirling within, and finds the baby thingy bolted the wall. He feels around with one hand while the other holds his only heir. He reads the words and finds the latch and drops the table out. He feels around and puts the kid on the cold plastic table. While holding it in place, he fishes in his man-purse for a new diaper. Finding the new diaper, he begins the task of removing the soiled diaper with two hands while holding the clean one in his teeth. Unable to see, we hope he does not put his hand into the fresh pile of poop left by his son or daughter. Imagine the scene if you will; unable to see, this person is having to maneuver the stink-pile of an infant, apply wipes to clean off any remaing poopy residue, deposit these remnants into a receptacle (which was not marked in Braille), put on some talcum powder, and apply a new diaper. Then he puts everything back into place, avoids the porcelain bowl again – his shin is still smarting – and grabs the kid and leaves, using his cane to find his way back to the table to finish his steak without stabbing his hand in the process. I dunno, sort of weird.

Factoid of the day

When referring to the drink given to the folks over in Jonestown most people call it Kool-Aid. It was not Kool-Aid, but Flavor-Aid.


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