About Dicktater Supreme

I am the Dicktater Supreme of the website MyCatHatesYou dot com. So, eat that, honkies!

What be up these days.
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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.

The problem in Gulf Breeze.
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In Gulf Breeze there is a new addition to the Baxivanos / Edgar family. His name is Nigel, and alternately Nigiri, Hank (given him by the shelter we rescued hims from), ShitHead, Bartholomew (though we never call hims that), and as of last night’s Halloween nightmare, DAMIEN! Here is a picture of him getting ready to make trouble on our toes, ankles, elbows, heels, arms, wrists, and anything else he can get to whilst we are trying to get a good night of sleep.

He is laying down with mommy, planning his next assault upon our persons.

Matilda is pouting due to the arrival of the Terror From Gulf Breeze.

So, more on Nigel/Hank/Bartholomew/ShitHead/Damien later. After laying in bed watching the Food Channel for a couple of hours, we found ourselves determined to go get some ribs and chicken wings, so we headed to McGuire’s for the first time. Holy Amazing! We recommend! Then off to the Bridge Bar where the night turned extraterrestrial when I was abducted and replaced by Alien Jim. Innocently enough, we get some wine and take some cute pics of ourselves.

We go inside and find a quiet spot at the bar. There are some peeps around talking politics and local gossip, etc.

Then I get this queer feeling as if someone is talking to me inside my head. So of course, I start talking back. This bothers Athena.

She gets really pissed and starts yelling back at them.

Whatever she said must have pissed them off, so they started the brain probe.

More probing… so Athena starts looking for someone else to talk to.

I look back to her for help, but she is now busy discussing the merits of service to the community, especially the animals, who have no voice of their own.

I interrupt to say that the aliens now controlling my mind have a very vested interest in the animals of Earth as well. This apparently pissed her off.

That was the last thing I remember before the blue beam took me from the building and replaced me with temporary replacement Jim. Athena is looking to see ‘what the hell was that light?’, unaware of the body-swap occurring behind her. (notice that Alien Jim forgot to bring spectacles – the obvious clencher to the deceit)

She turned back to ask if I saw the light, but Alien Jim has nothing to say.

Unimpressed with my lack of response, she goes back to her original conversation. Alien Jim starts to become bored.

He tries to get her attention. Bleeehhhh!

Listening to Athena talk about all the different animals on Earth made Alien Jim very hungry. Apparently he had not eaten dinner before beaming down.

“You know that’s right, sister!” Athena is saying in her conversation. Alien Jim agrees the best way he knows how, “duhhh.”

Athena debates the issue of factory farming versus free-range. Alien Jim misses his ship and starts transforming back to Real Jim.

Real Jim (hence known as just Jim, or I) tries to explain what happened onboard the alien vessel. Athena runs out of facial muscles trying to express her dismay that I am back.

I say goodbye to my abductors as they fly away. Athena is perturbed that she has to go back to talking to me about beer now.

Athena forgives me for being abducted. (note: that is not Alien Jim again, I took my glasses off)

Hahahaha! We can’t believe you fell for that story. We laugh at you!

In all truth, Gulf Breeze, Florida, has an interesting history of UFO activity. This happened in the late 80’s and has been well documented in many books and documentaries on the subject. You can see the Wiki article HERE or the UFO Casebook article HERE.

Now, onto the Pensacola Interstate Fair! We took a nice day trip to the fairgrounds to see what local flavor we could take in. The fair was chock full of food vendors, animals, and exhibits of food, arts, and cars. There was a Wild West show as well with cowboys riding around shooting off their revolvers. Here are some pics of Athena feeding the animals. Eat my hand! she was saying.

And me feeding the goat/sheep-thing, which I realized later was an incarnation of Satan himself, and here I am feeding the motherfucker!

I know I drone on about the fried food down heeyah, but dig this shit the most! This one vendor had nothing other than fried Oreos, fried Twinkies, and fried Snickers (trademarks of Nabisco, Hostess Brands, and Mars, Inc. respectively.) Athena got the Twinkie, I got the Oreos. Pretty, pretty, pretty interesting. This image is called Thener and the Twink

Now, more animals, including pheasants, roosters, chickens, and pre-chickens!

Back to food! We noshed on something called Butt-Fries, a local delicacy of french fries covered with BBQ pulled pork. Dude fucking! Then an alligator kebab. The bomb, my friends! I have never seen such a tiny gator and how they got it on the stick without being bitten, I will never know. The new trend at the fair this year is apparently the Krispy Kreme (trademark Krispy Kreme) hamburger. You have to see it to believe it, so we got a pic for youse! That was something we were JUST NOT ready for.

Ah yes, the feeding of the soon-to-be King of the Wildlife Refuge here in Florida somewhere. This is Maurice, four months old and loving it already.

This little guy was found that morning, having been born the night before and presumably abandoned by moms.

Eventually, we had to say goodbye and this little marsupial gave us the farewell kiss… OF DEATH!

We went on a ride called The Zipper, which was Athena’s favorite ride since childhood. It scared the shit out of us. Just saying. It was a good time, for sure! We finished up the day with another trip to McGuire’s, where we had gorged on ribs and wings the night before. We did not, mind you, stop at the Bridge Bar on the way home for fear of another abduction experience.

I still have more cats to get up on the site, I KNOW! But for now…

Charles demands more cats!
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Charles, my old buddy from the Microsoft days has commented to me that I am an asshole for only having four pics this year. I swear I thought there were more… and believe me, I have 100 still to post. I will get them done this week, for sure. I am in GO MODE. You will see.

It is about 43 years since I was killed in Vietnam, in the arms of my brother who said to me, DRINK THE FUCKING WATER! as it poured out of my throat wounds. I still have the leg and groin scars from that terrible debacle of U.S. policy. Anyway… thanks to my bro for trying to save me. Love hers!

Tomorrow Athena and I are going to be getting some pics from around town. We have a little area where the pelicans are out of control and will get some pics to post from there. They are amazing birds. In fact, we may do a little nature picture fest and post some of the beautiful sea birds around here. Athena found a little dead snake on the sidewalk yesterday. Poor little guy. Until then, here are some random pics from the past year.

Another pic of Matilda being… Matilda… BOING!.

Athena in Oregon while we were camping playing with the coons.

Me trying to light the campfire in Oregon, which is really Athena’s job, but we ran out of lighter fluid.

In other Pensacola news, the people here drive like shit. Total shit. They ride up your assholes until you are about to have an accident, then they change lanes and give you a look. It is really retarded. Athena’s middle finger is sore from these experiences.

Oh yeah, the food here in the South is crazy. Not good crazy, though. As I have heard from anyone who has ever been here or lived here is the truth: Deep fry everything and let Jehovah sort out my coronary artery disease. Fried green tomatoes, fried okra, etc. Love em all, but come on folks. I wonder how life was here before the deep fryer?

“What we gon’ do with this heyah catfish?” the boss asked. (not Bruce Springsteen)

“Well, we could wrap it in salt-water soaked kudzu leaves with some butter, garlic and bit of tarragon and put it on the coals until it reaches tender perfection?” Johnson offered.

“Johnson, that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard of! What we need is some kind of device that will cook the flesh to a crisp and infuse artery-clogging saturated fats into it! That is what we need heyah!” the boss said, slapping Johnson into the next decade. (again, not Bruce Springsteen)

Anyway, Athena and I were talking about opening a restaurant here on the order of the Anne Arundel Seafood place in Baltimore. YUM YUM! Freshly steamed seafood made to order. Cheap, delicious, expeditious! Last night however, Athena made me aware of what folly that line of thinking really is. Her position is that people around here in the small town South don’t want that kind of food. Otherwise it would already be here. They want their burgers, steaks, chicken wings, fried okra, deep fried pickle spears, etcetera.

We have found some steamed crabs around, but they are rather anemic and ineffectual. In Pensacola Beach, there is a place called Crabs We Got ‘Em which has a nice selection of crabs – five pounds of Dungeness, Snow, and Alaskan King for FITTY BUCKS. They are also on the Gulf of Messico and have good drink specials, so check ‘em out. Great service too. Hemingway’s in P’cola Beach is also nice for the price and the food is delish and the service is friendly. We had a pound of snow crab for ten bucks and eggs Benedict to die for. Wait a second! What is this? YELP.COM?

There is one more thing I am supposed to post about, but my notes are not here, so it will have to wait until the next few days.

Oh, I just check my notes, which sort of refer back to the food rant above. Tempura flakes in your spicy tuna hand roll! RIGHT! What is in a hand roll of the spicy tuna variety?! Rice, chopped tuna, spicy sauce, cuke and avo. THAT’S IT, NIGGGGGIRI! Well, in the South, since you can’t have shit NOT deep fried, they toss huge spoonfulls of deep fried tempura flakes in the hand rolls. It is like… you can’t even taste the delicate flavor of the tuna or, Jehovah forbid, scallops if you like spicy scallop roll. You have to actually order the rolls WITHOUT CRUNCH, as they call it. Crunch this, NAGGGGASAKI!

Happy Birthday Moon Landing
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If you are a geek like me, you know that 41 years ago this very day two men tempted fate and stood on the surface of our fair satellite, Luna. While Michael Collins kept a careful eye overhead, Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin put their footprints into the lunar dust; the first time humans have touched another heavenly body. Shine on you crazy diamonds!

We are having a blowout sale on MCHY merchandise this week. Maybe longer, depends. I am leaving next week for the Gulf Coast to live as long as can be lived there. My woman, Athena, is already there and has staked out a wonderful habitat in Gulf Breeze on the English Navy Cove. I have been in the process of disposing of all of our worldly possessions here in Seattle and have whittled our existence to a small truckload of things. Among these things are crates and crates of MCHY tee shirts, underwear, hoodies and mousepads. I wish NOT to haul all this stuff across the country (for the third time), so I am liquidating at 1/2 the normal price. Take advantage of the savings and buy today!

Oh yes, the ubiquitous question of new cats. Thanks to all of those who have donated their pics to the 2012 Bad Cat Calendar, I have about 100 pics to get sorted, sized, thumbnailed and posted here in the next few days. It WILL happen. Shhh, tell no one!

Keeping it real, yo’.
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It has been a long time since I checked in with everyone and said howdy and what’s been going on. In short news, the MCHY site is still here, albeit neglected by yours truly. I will have updates to the cat pics soon, as I am working on the 2012 Bad Cat Calendar right now.

This means that I need a very quick influx of good cat pics that I can use for the calendar. You know the email addy: submissions @ mycathatesyou.com.  Send anything you have that may look good in print. No yawning or cats sitting on a couch. Gimme something to chew on, eh?

This last year, I embarked on a great journey, literally all around the country… to be with my girl, Athena Bee.

This is us hanging out at the inner harbor of Balitmore City, where she lived. Actually she lived in a very nice suburb of Baltimore.

I eventually moved out to Baltimore with the plan to go to Florida afterwards. Here are some pics of my trip along the 90 to Baltimore.

Columbia Gorge – always a kick ass view.

The famous Wild Horses monument. You can’t see it in this picture, but under each horse is a iron pile of droppings.

Continental Divide – I stood at the top and tried to figure out which way I was supposed to roll. Nothing happened.

Some crazy religious statue called the Lady of the Rockies. It has nothing to do with baseball, though, but is still cool.

Wyoming! God bless open carry states. You getta walk around with your peacemaker snug in your holster and wave to the Cheney family as they drive their cattle through the middle of town. There is also DEVIL’S TOWER! More on that later.

Ahhh, good old South Dakot! (you have to take the last syllable off of these states once you enter them, i.e. Montan, South Dakot, Minnesot, Wyom, etc.) Another open carry state. Good idea too, in case you run across rabid prairie dogs – more on that later, too.

Who knew? Huge phalluses in the midwest?!

This human being should get off at the next exit and turn itself in for any number of crimes against humanity – notably blocking the sun from public view.

Wisconsin doesn’t fuck around with their cheese. Neither does this mouse I caught climbing the sign. I went in to get some delicious curds and came back to the largest shit ever on my car.

That is all for tonight, Part I as it is. More to come in the next few days. Right now, I have to get the calendar under weigh. Send me pics… or die.