Apparently, all the MCHY fans love George Bush, Jr. because I am overcome with feedback saying I am a terrible person for ever doubting the Shrub’s personal war against Islam.
I better stick to cats and not have an opinion as to how my country is being ruined by special interests. I am sure my detractors have had a fantastic life the last eight years because of Dubya. I hope they are enjoying the gas prices because MY FUCKING CATS ARE!
You don’t believe me, go check out the Litterbox feedback posted over the years. Yeah, I know. Blah blah blah, Jim you suck… we love ICANSUXORJIZZBURGERS.CUM better than MCHY.
I was listening to the geriatric presidential guy with the plastic smile say something about Barack Obama not caring about the troops in Iraq because doesn’t hang out there enough. Damn that Obama, I thought! Why doesn’t he go hang out in the middle of nowhere in blazing heat and enemies all around and spiders the size of Subway sandwiches to prove that he is American!
Then it struck me like a lightning bolt, without the muscle seizure… John McCain hates Antarctica! He is using this Iraq issue to defer attention to the fact that he has NEVER visited Antarctica to check on the good American men and women stationed down there in penguin-land! I think those Vietnamese got to him in Hanoi… turned him a little red, if you know what I mean. Stockholm Syndrome anyone?
In other news at MCHY, the new My Cat Hates You book is due out October 1st in stores around the country (and the world, eventually… so don’t cry for me Argentina), there are some new cats up. Unfortunately, this site is still run by one person, not the rest of illiterate humanity, and when he (me) is busy, it suxxors for all concerned! I should be getting more cats up soon, though. I have a few thousand to go through.
Congrats to all the sport winners within the recent weeks. You all rock steady! Tiger got his trophy, Ray Allen gets a ring leaving the Sonics, Nadal gets to beat off on center court and… the Sonics are now officially tossed aside like Mayor Nickels dirty man panties. They can be the Oklahoma City Bombers now! Go OK! (I know, tasteless joke).
Much love to you all!
IT is time to do our official MCHY Happy Birthday to the invasion and occupation of the republic of Iraq!
Congratulations to the guy who lives in the White House on his successful murder of another few hundred Americans and who knows how many Iraqis! AND!! Making America less safe than ever and creating more terrorists than have ever been in history!
Yeah, I know… Jim please put up more cats and stop saying political things on your website! I hear it all the time. Republicrats have emailed me saying this was NOT the site for them anymore because of this and that. Oh man, now I can’t sleep at night, knowing they are hanging out at that haven of hilarity ICANSUXCHEEZBURGERS.COM and loving the national disaster known as George W. Bush Jr. It is those people that think misspelling the English language in poorly-devised captions on unentertaining feline imageswho probably put the mentally deficient man into power. It is as God wished I supposed, eh ?
The whole thing started out simple. Me and Eliot hanging out in the bar of the Capitol Hilton. I figured he was drunk again and spouting his usual bullshit about all the bros he brought down in Albany and how the pussy was tight down in D.C. I laughed alot and drank the good stuff, on his tab of course. He always paid for the company and the discretion. Then he started talking about Ashley Dupre and how I should get a piece on his dime. Fucking Eliot… rambling again.
The night went on, drinking and talking. Nothing making sense after awhile. He had to testify about some shit before Congress in the morning. After a few more drinks, I had to slap him around. Just a love pat to the face. Eliot seemed to like it, the rough stuff. I figgered him to come up whimpering after the smackdown. Oh no… he was smiling. He liked it. The rough stuff. I slapped him again. The bartender looked over. Not interested. Eliot came up smiling. I took his Miller Lite and finished it, then shoved the bottle into his crotch. He winced, but managed a grin. I knew he was good for the night. I ordered a bottle of 25 year MacCallan and went upstairs.
Jeez fuck, what was it, an hour later? There he is, in his Spider Man Underoos and drunk as Howard Cosell on Monday Night Football. What was I to do? I let him in and put him to bed. That was when Ashley showed up in full hot young stuff glory.
I checked Eliot’s pocket. Big time cash… enough to pay her and maybe a few friends. Then it happened. She saw the green and off came the clothes. Two hours later and it was done. Poor Eliot… he ended up with nothing but a face full of spunk and an empty wallet. I have pictures to come!
Our Lord and Saviour Gary Gygax passed away today, leaving my generation of old school gamers throwing ten-sided dice to determine exactly how we will deal with the void he left.
Many were the lunches wasted in the hallways of Parkman Junior High, where Alex and I were imprisoned during our mid-teen years, hanging with true nerds scratching out campaigns on graph paper and scribbling our stats as they evolved during a particularly difficult dungeon crawl.
Without such thought-provoking conquests of dragons and evil mages, I would probably be packing Chinese-made televisions in boxes in some warehouse in West Covina.
This evening, I cast a saving throw of three beers to ward off the evil Sobriety Demon and ask that you follow suit, lest YOU be reduced to the carbon ash you are.
Many thanks, Gary, for the years of counter-culture escapism and beatings at the hands of those leveraging an IQ 1/5 of my own. You will be missed. Our MCHY blessings to your family and friends.
Happy Birthday to my mother, Teri! I hope all is well in Topanga, mom! I had my phone completely erased on accident, so I have NOT the phone number to call you. I hope you had a wonderful day and basked in the sun and went to the Inn of the Seventh Ray for good food! Namaste!