The cat is a whore!

My girlfriend has been feeling a little guilty lately. Not because she did anything wrong, per se, but because she has been spending so much time at my house lately that she has not been at her own place and spent time with her cats.

 

She has three.

No, she isn’t a “cat lady”. She has a boyfriend, me! (She has impeccable taste in men.) She just likes cats. Two of the cats are brothers and still kinda in the kitten stage, and the third is stray that she took in.

Now I have a cat also. I have had him for something like nine or ten years. He’s old, he’s grumpy and he also refuses to believe that he isn’t the master of the house. As far as he is concerned us humans are there to feed him, scratch him when he wants to be scratched and then to leave him the fuck alone.
We’re perfect for each other.

Anyway, I could tell that my girlfriend was feeling bad for not spending enough time with her own little ones, so I opened up one evening and told her that she could bring one of them over. Maybe one like the stray. Of the three he might be able to get along with my cat, Cloud, more then any of them. He’s pretty laid back and easy going and besides, he’s gorgeous as hell. Silky black fur and green eyes that say, “yeah, I can take you or leave you. Doesn’t matter to me.”

Did I mention my girlfriend sucks at naming pets? Well, not all the time, but on this particular time I’d have to say she screwed the pooch. She usually lets a pet stay with her for a while until a name just kinda “fits”. And usually it works out. The pet ends up with a name that really fits its personality. This time, I think she just gave up. The cats name is: “Insert Name Here”! We all just call him “Insert.” He’s fucking black with green eyes. How fucking hard would it be to name a cat that looks like that? I could come up with a name for him with my pronouns tied behind my back. How about something like “Midnight”, “8-Ball”, “Spades”, “Black Bart”, “Shadow” … fuck, the list could go on and on. But no, he got branded “Insert Name Here.”

Poor fucking pussy.

I can’t say I’m much better though. Mine is “Cloud”. But at least in my defense when my daughter and I picked him out as a small kitten he looked like a fluffy, little cloud. Now he just looks like a big fat Cloud with some sunset orange bouncing off of him. He’s so fucking fat now that whenever something disappears around the house, our first train of thought is to say “Cloud ate it.”

Now Cloud isn’t so good with other animals coming over. Hell, he’s not good with other people coming over, unless they feed him. So bringing another cat into the house can be a pretty traumatic experience. Well, at least for me. So it took quite a lot of effort on my part just to offer to let her bring over one cat. As for all three, that probably isn’t going to happen anytime soon. If ever. I don’t think Cloud could handle it, and I sure as hell don’t think I could handle it.

Insert is a pretty good cat though. He stays out of Clouds way for the most part, although we have caught him looking like he wanted to stalk Cloud a few times. I mean, just look at all that meat. Who wouldn’t think about eating a big old fat cat? I think the only thing that stops Insert from following through is that it would be just too much fucking work to dispose of the uneaten portions.

He’s very friendly and loving though. He will crawl up into anyone’s lap and let them pet him. In fact, he rather insists on it. If you stop petting him he will start clawing on you and shoving his paw in your face. His polydactyl paw, by the way. Oh yeah, he’s a polydactyl cat, which means that he was born with extra toes. His are almost in the shape of thumbs, and my girlfriend claims that he can hold objects like a human does, although I have yet to see this myself. My girlfriend, like the great author Hemingway, collects polydactyl cats.

Yeah, she’s weird. Hence why she is with me.

Fortunately, Cloud and Insert do a pretty good job of ignoring one another. There has been minimal hissing and growling at each other, which in my humble opinion is a fucking miracle. Usually Cloud does that low growl thing that states in unequivocal terms: “Get the fuck out of my house you whore!” But with Insert it’s been more of a: “As long as you stay off my side of the bed I won’t have to smack you in the penis,” kind of thing. And what really surprises me is that Cloud has even allowed Insert to be on the bed at the same time as him. Which sucks.

Take last night for example I was woken up in the middle of the night with a face full of pussy. Now don’t get me wrong, I like waking up with a face full of young pussy as much as the next guy, but this was the wrong kind of pussy. Besides, I usually like my pussy to be shaved and most of the time to be tied up. This pussy had fur and claws and decided that sleeping on my fucking head sounded like a good idea. Now, granted, I have a sexy fucking bald head that is probably nice and warm at night, but I sure don’t want to use it as a cat warmer when I am trying to get some much needed sleep.
Cloud learned long ago as a little kitten that sleeping near my head was an option he didn’t want to pursue. Most likely because whenever he did, the result sounded like a really bad Saturday morning kung fu theater episode.

(Master to students: “Please take the position of Cat Who Flies Through Air.”)

Insert hasn’t learned these lessons yet, and he isn’t a little kitten with freshly trimmed claws. No, he’s a full grown polydactyl cat with fucking extra claws — and they are fucking sharp as hell! So I go to throw him off the bed and he fucking clings onto my pillow with such a death grip that I am pretty sure if I had successfully thrown him, he would have taken my pillow, and everything from my shoulders up with him. Out of shear self-preservation I decided that throwing him off the bed wasn’t such a good idea. So instead I put up with him not only laying right against the top of my head for the rest of the night, but also him deciding it was a great idea to prop his legs up on my face.

I’m pretty sure he was either laughing the whole time, or that his tongue might have stuck in my ear during the night at some point. At least, I am going to hope to whatever gods are out there that it was a tongue and not something a lot more intrusive.

It's never just one thing

Last weekend the girlfriend and I purchased a treadmill. Simple little thing right. You get on it and run. You lose weight. You feel better about yourself.

 

Except I can’t just get on a treadmill and run.

I have to have something to take my mind off the running, otherwise my mind just repeatedly starts counting the steps, and before I know it I’m singing army cadences in my head while I run, and then that makes me think about being in the army. Being in the army makes me think of having to take orders and do things I don’t want to do, be places I don’t want to be and talk to people I don’t want to talk to. All those thoughts bring me down and then I don’t want to run anymore, I just want to curl up into a little ball and cry.

So instead I figure if I can watch TV while I run, then it will take my mind off the running, the cadences, the army, the places, the people and the crying.

Awesome plan right?

So I bring the treadmill into the living room (it’s a great one that folds and has rollers, so it’s easily moved) and set it in front of the TV and stand on it. Crap. My TV sits about 20” off the ground and the bar for the treadmill readout screen is EXACTLY in the way of the TV.

No go.

My entertainment center is built into the wall of my house. It’s actually a pretty nifty setup. It goes in about 18” deep and has two shelves. Bottom shelf is about 20” off the ground and the second shelf is about 2 feet or more above that. So I get the bright idea that moving the TV to the second shelf would work.

No problem, right?

Except that to move the TV from one shelf to another I not only have to move the TV itself (42” flatscreen), but all the attached cords attached to the PS3, and the surround sound, and of course I have to move everything off the top shelf like DVDs, CDs, speakers and reroute everything.
Two fucking hours later I have everything rerouted, the TV positioned perfectly, the PS3 plugged back in, the surround sound hooked back up and I sit back on the couch to admire my handiwork.

Fuck.

Looking at the TV now from this angle it hurts my neck. This just won’t work.

So, back to the drawing board.

What if I moved the second shelf down about 15 inches? Then it would just about right to not only see it when I am on the treadmill, but also perfect for sitting on the couch!

Yeah, that’s the ticket.

Back to taking everything out of the entertainment center. TV, PS3, surround sound, speakers, DVDs, CDs, cords.

Hmmmm, really needs to be cleaned. So hot water, soap, sponge and vacuum cleaner.

NICE! Haven’t seen it this clean since I moved in.

Now to move the shelf.

The shelf is also built into the wall of the house. Kind of a simple setup. 1”x4” pine boards painted white and nailed to the wall, and then the shelf screwed into those. Simple. Right?

Except whatever bastard put this in decided for some unknown, god-forsaken reason to use caulking inbetween the shelf and the wall, and then painted over it. What the fuck was he/she/it thinking? Did they often have problems with liquids dripping from the top shelf down to the bottom? And, of course, when I go to use the hammer to pry to board off the drywall the fucking hammer presses into the drywall creating about a 1” round hold in the fucking drywall. So now, not only do I have a hole to fix, but when I pulled the boards off the wall (with the attached rubber caulking and paint) they ripped the drywall paper off the wall creating a not-so-smooth surface that looks like bubba’s house out in the woods.

Fuck me! In the ass with a garden hoe, sharp side in!

So, off to the hardware store for spackling, trowel and sandpaper. Get home, mix spackling with water, make a paste and fill holes. Wait for it to dry …. for-fucking-ever!

Luckily for me I have some left over paint from the bed fiasco. (Don’t fucking ask.) The paint is a nice blood red, so it should look good inside the entertainment center. And for once I am right, it does look good. (Someone please mark down the date that I actually did something right please.) Except it takes 2 coats, with 2 hours to dry between coats.

Now, I’m ready to put everything back in its rightful place. TV, PS3, surround sound, DVDs, CDs and cables all re-routed back to their correct places.

POP. POP. Fucking. POP!

What the hell was that? Turns out, the fucking surround sound reciever decides now, while my blood vessels are already about to swell and pop out of my bald head, to have a major meltdown.
Fuck me! With a jupiters fucking cock and trident in my ass — ALL THREE PRONGS!

Fuck it. I can go without surround sound for a while. Its not that important right? At least I can fucking watch TV while I jog.

Except ….

Somehow moving the TV up 18” somehow clearly cancels out the reception coming from the antenna I just put up outside a couple weeks ago.

See, I had the brilliant idea to save some money by cancelling cable and getting my TV fix from Netflix (which I watch all the time) and from the few TV shows that I watch on the network. And it worked fine. I got clearer reception from the antenna then I did from cable. And I got all my favorite shows on NBC, ABC and Fox.

Until I moved the fucking TV up eighteen-fucking-inches!

So, spend the next fucking two hours playing with the antenna, going to buy more antenna parts and rescanning for channels repeatedly. Now I can at least get ABC and Fox, but no fucking NBC … which of course my favorite show “Chuck” is on. I could fucking care less about most TV shows. Really. They just don’t interest me. But fucking “Chuck” I can’t live without.

And I can’t fucking get the channel now.

And, of course, I am too fucking tired now to work out!

Moral of the story: Never fucking leave me alone at home and bored. I will fuck things up.

Don't read this

Take a breath and count to ten ….

 

Fuck you! Fuck me! Fuck everyone! This is just the way it’s gonna be. If you don’t like profanity, if you don’t like hearing about sex, relationships, naked old men, thoughts that come from a mind that dwells in the taboo of life, stories of a past gone awry, litanies of post-pubescent disorder, the occasional creativeness, or if you just plain don’t like me then you can just hit that little browse button at the top of the screen and navigate your way away from here, because this isn’t for you.

This is for me.

I once had dreams too, just like you do. I once wanted to take the world by storm, grab it by the little testicles and squeeze until the juice ran down its leg. I once wanted to be rich, famous, infamous, a fucking god. But then life got in the way of my dreams. I had responsibilities, I had people that looked to me to bring them up in the world, teach them the lessons they needed to learn, be there for them when they cried, hold them when they had a bad dream, love them just for the sake of that they were born on this huge pile of stinking rock and they came from my loins.

I did love them. I do love them. I will always love them no matter what. They may be fucked up for eternity, and I blame myself for that, but they will be fucked up in a way that I can relate too. They will be gods themselves because of me.

Now they are grown into their own little worlds, and I can once again grab a hold of my own world before it passes too far out of my reach. And I’m gonna fucking throttle it with both hands like a teenage boy who has just discovered that white stuff comes out of his penis and it rocks his world when it does. I’m gonna stick a finger in the ass of life, twirl it around a few times until it knows I am there and then I’m gonna rape it with my words.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.